The Evans Household
by Aiiro Hoshi
Summary: V.2 - And so begins again the retelling of Soul Eater Evans' past. UNDERGOING SEVERE EDITING.
1. October 4, 1993 Evans Private Hospital

**Brief Commentary:**  
Ah well, this whole story is going to be redone. So that I can keep up with Ookubo, I'm reorganizing all the chapters, and everything is going to be very, very different (evidently the Evans don't find out that they are a family of weapons until quite sometime after Soul is born). Some things will remain the same until Ookubo provides with information saying otherwise. And for now, Soul's older brother will be named as "Wes," as that is his name in the translation.

* * *

**The Evans Household  
**_October 4, 1993; Evans Private Hospital_

"Whoa," the nine year old boy blinked in amazement as bright red eyes flickered down to his new sibling, lying asleep in his mother's arms. "He's my brother?"

"He is," his mother affirmed, slightly adjusting her hold on the newborn babe. The two of them flashed pointed smiles at each other, while the husband of the family looked on in silence, his face composed even as he gave off a strong aura of pride.

"What's his name?"

"We've decided on 'Soul Eater,'" Mrs. Evans nodded, "Soul as an abridged title."

"Oh? That's such a cool name," Wes Evans stared hard at his little brother, "Why didn't I get a cool name like that?"

"There is a difference in significance," Mr. Evans said curtly, "Just as your name has a meaning to it, so does Soul Eater's."

"I see, I see," he agreed quickly. "So, mother, your stomach won't be so big any longer?"

"Ah, no," Laura Evans almost laughed, but refrained. "Now that I've had the baby, I won't look like a whale any longer."

"I must say, you will always appear anything but," Bradley Evans offered, leaning down to give her a quick kiss on the lips. Wes refrained from making a face as his mother smiled up at his father.

"Anyhow, as much as I dislike saying it, we must take our leave," Mr. Evans pulled back. "You must get your practicing in, Wes."

"But I don't feel like-"

"Perhaps you didn't hear me properly. I said that _you must get your practicing done,_" Bradley gave him a glare. Wes glanced helplessly from his father to his mother, who had also adopted a stern look, and shrank back a little.

"I'm sorry, I will," he said. "Three hours again?"

"At the very least, if you wish to become successful," was the terse reply.

"Yessir."

"Goodbye, Laura; we'll visit again soon."

"Goodbye, dear, Wes."

"'Bye, mother! 'Bye, Soul Eater!"

The babe gave a little gurgle as his elder brother and his father departed.

"Hungry again?" Laura sighed, pushing a lock of her rich black hair behind her ear, "I certainly hope you aren't a troublesome child – so much has been planned for you already. All I can say is thanks be to God that you are a boy…"

Soul Eater yawned and blinked sleepily up at his mother, and gave another small mumble of noise before snuggling into her breast.

* * *

"Making such a fuss about a _baby_," a nurse muttered to her co-worker, disgust evident in her voice. "That _cult_ of theirs must be very pleased."

"Don't say that!" her friend whispered fearfully, "If they hear you, you could get fired!"  
"I certainly wouldn't mind…"

"Don't say that, either…"

"They must be embarrassed, though. Another kid with the birth defect."

"The teeth?"  
"No, everyone in that damned family has teeth like that. I'm talking about the hair and eye color. Apparently some one from Mrs. Evan's side of the family was albino, and somehow the genetics got screwed up and both of her children have white hair and red eyes. I say they deserve it – they can at least show without saying anything how freaky that family is…"

"Oh, was that why the little boy had such strange hair…?"

"Yeah…"

"U-uh, well, I have to go see off Mr. Weigber now; the poor old man's finally getting released today and I've been his nurse for a while…"

"That old violin teacher? Fine."

As the second nurse quickly departed from the first, the first glanced into the Evans' hospital once again, before she briskly took off down the hall, muttering obscenities to herself.

Laura, in the meanwhile, was smirking. She had heard everything quite clearly (her ears were accustomed to picking up quiet sounds – it was a part of her profession, after all). Another nurse who would be going home jobless tomorrow, hm. It only bothered Mrs. Evans a trifle that this was the fifth nurse to do so.

Honestly, of all things…it was not like her family could help the talent it had been blessed with generations ago (well, her husband's family – but it seemed as though she had a natural talent herself), even if that particular genetic outcome was very unusual. Almost everyone in the family was a successful musician, Mrs. Evans herself quite an amazing cellist (she was recognized internationally for her ability and had created an album or two herself). Her husband could make anyone shake with tears with his violin, and they had already enrolled her son with a private violin teacher as well when he was but three years old.

After a bit of thought, Laura and Bradley had decided that they would have their next child excel on the piano – and if their second child were to be a son, it would do well for their company (this wasn't quite an afterthought). Obviously the Evans did not reap their great finances from simply playing in public and touring – it involved too much hassle and the exhausting process of moving constantly from place to place. Mr. and Mrs. Evans did not care for this.

As it was, Mr. Evans was the C.E.O. of a security company – selling security devices to other significant businesses and associations and therefore making millions and millions of dollars. There was also the subject of Mr. Evans' _second_ job, no doubt his most important job, by far…

_I don't feel like thinking about this,_ Laura shrugged the thoughts away, settling back into her pillows with the sleeping child in her arms. _I just do hope that Soul Eater does as he is told…everything will be so much easier, then…_

* * *

_Please proceed on. :)  
_


	2. Introduzione ad Inizio

**Brief Commentary:**  
I've been corrected once again. Apparently Soul is the only currently living member of his family (as far as we know) who has the blood of a weapon. Wonder why that is. But since Ookubo has spoken, I shall delete and rewrite it. 'Cause that's all I'm good for. By the way I'd love some more reviews kthx. :D But probably not for this chapter, as this one doesn't differ TOO much...but there are still several changes.

* * *

**The Evans Household**  
_Introduction to the Beginning  
_

Mrs. Evans and her return from the hospital with a new baby was cause for much celebration in the family. A large party was hosted, and relatives and family friends from all over the globe were invited to attend. None dared to turn down such an offer - the Evans' parties were unlike any other. Their enormous mansion, which was anything but humble, contained two ballrooms and over twenty bedrooms, along with three kitchens to keep the food coming. Servants kept the house elaborately decorated and clean, professional musicians were hired, and hundreds of guests littered the hallways, either boasting loudly of their success or sucking up to others - most often Mr. or Mrs. Evans.

Although Soul was their second child, the celebration was so elaborate that guests left eager to describe breathlessly to the unfortunate (who had not been invited) how that there would never be another party like it, and everything had been beautiful enough to take your breath away. And, of course, there was much oohing and ahhing over the babe himself, who was still no larger than a thick loaf of bread. His round little face with twin ruby-colored eyes squinting out was cause for much squealing from the younger women attending, and the smallest noise or gurgle brought knowing smiles from the older women. The younger men could only stare at him in awe, while the older grinned and remarked how such a boy was going to make the Evans family proud, just as his elder brother, already magnificent with the violin, was.

And all Bradley and Laura Evans could do was smirk and say,

"Yes, we know, we know."

By the time Soul had turned two, his parents had hired a piano teacher for him. His mother had insisted that he be instructed at an early age, in order to acheive his elder brother's level at an even earlier time. The Evans were a digustingly rich family, so it was hardly a penny out of their pockets to pay the teacher, who had demanded an unusually high price for his services. At another odd request, Soul was to attend his lesson in the teacher's own studio - a rather cramped little place that had always smelled of rubbing alcohol and dead, rotting flowers.

The piano teacher himself was odd, with a very round figure and grubby, thick-fingered hands, which seemed awkward when they hovered over the piano. However, once the tips of his digits hit the keys, an unexpectedly nice tune would moan quietly out of the grand piano. The fine instrument took up the majority of the room, which had been painted a dreary black color on its interior walls. For some strange reason, everything in the room was black, down to the carpeting and the lamp shades, with a few exceptions. The red-wood floor, for one, and a few other reddish things that were strewn about.

Soul had just been dropped off in front of the twin doors, a small bag neatly containing his sheet music held in his diminutive hands as he stared up at the dark mahogany wood. This would be his eleventh lesson here, he had counted silently while still in the car. He politely stepped back as the doors swung open, his piano teacher awaiting him with a smile on his fat face.

"Hello, Mr. Palander," he mumbled, ducking his head as he stepped in side. He suppressed the urge to crinkle his nose as the unpleasant smell entered his nostrils again, instead glancing up at his teacher, who was still smiling. It was a bit scary how much he smiled, but, of course, Soul didn't say so. He sort of wished his mother or Wes was here with him.

"Soul Eater, right on time as usual. And looking sharp!" Mr. Palander's smile stretched into a grin. "Your cream suit again?"

The boy nodded, dumbly, not quite sure what he meant.

"Do you like that color?"

He nodded again, not really understanding. Color? As in a coloring book? He had those at home. His favorite was the robot one...

"Well, now, let's get started," the man ambled over to the piano, gesturing for Soul to sit down on the bench. Carefully, he did, setting his bag down on the floor as he struggled to properly sit on the stiff black leather. Legs dangling limply, he bent over to pull out the sheet music from the bag, his chubby fingers setting them against the black board. The tunes were immensely and impossibly simple, but Soul had found them instead to be difficult. It was hard for him to find all the right notes in the sea of black and white keys.

"So, let's see how you've been doing. Can you play the first one for me?"

Soul didn't really want to play it for Mr. Palander - Mr. Palander was strange - but he silently obeyed, fingers searching for the appropriate places to begin before he stared hard at his sheet music. He combed over the notes, slowly, in his mind, before he pressed his fingertips to the keys, and a simple tune began to develop. It was just under thirty seconds long, but Soul was shaking from nervousness by the time he had finished. Even though it sounded pretty, it frightened him to play - he had to do it _perfectly _right, or else everyone would get mad at him.

"Well done, well done," Mr. Palander nodded, and for a brief moment the boy relaxed. "However, in measure sixteen - that one there, see," he pointed to it, "you played a B instead of an A."

He froze, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. "I'm sorry."

Mr. Palander didn't seem to be listening to him as he opened his mouth to continue, much to Soul's horror. "And also, watch for measure twenty-four - you played_ piano _when you should have played _forte_. Remember that next time, okay? Oh, and one more thing; measure twenty-eight is tricky, I'll admit, but you're stretching your pinky too much to reach that E - you almost hit Eь there."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Palander," Soul repeated in a hushed voice, face burning with shame and disappointment. He had messed up not once, but three times.

The piano teacher had apparently not heard the boy as he gestured towards the first tune again.

"Try it a second time, Soul Eater."

"Okay..."

After another forty-five minutes of his lesson, Mr. Palander glanced at the grandfather-clock, standing stoically in the corner of the room, before announcing that Soul was free to leave. The boy nodded his head, murmuring a thank you before collecting his sheet music and sliding off of the bench. Quickly putting them back into his small bag, he hurriedly made his way out of the studio, eager to go home.

"Good bye, now!" Mr. Palander called out after him as Soul opened one of the doors and stepped outside. Nearly stumbling down the steps in his rush, the boy realized with much relief that the car was already waiting for him. Nodding to the man who opened his car door for him, he slid neatly inside, deciding this once not to mention the issue of someone buckling his seatbelt for him. They always drove safely anyway, and they wouldn't notice.

As soon as the door had closed shut and the man had gotten himself inside, the car drove off in the direction of the mansion, Soul looking out the window and watching the scenery pass by. Everyone seemed to have a smaller house than he did, for some odd reason. He soon grew bored of looking at them, even in their pretty colors of blue, white, green, and other pale colors, and he turned his attention instead to his feet, which dangled several inches above the carpeted floor of the car. He watched in an absent-minded fascination as they swayed from side to side with each turn, and how his plain black dress shoes flashed every once and a while when a beam of sunlight leaked in through the car windows.

Almost to his surprise, the car suddenly pulled to a stop in front of the mansion's front gate, and the man was already opening the door to let him out. Scrambling for his bag, which he had dropped onto the floor, he climbed out of the vehicle and made his way towards the looming front doors that marked the entrance to the Evans' mansion. They opened for him, Soul still a bit surprised as he half-walked, half-stumbled inside to see two long lines of servants bowing towards him, before standing and departing. The servants who had opened the doors closed them, and left to do the same.

He let out a sigh at the empty front hall way, already feeling lonely in the huge building. He decided he would look for his mother, and maybe she would kiss him on the forehead again today, and pat his sharp teeth with her index finger, remarking how much he looked like a little wolf. A smile lit up the two year-old's face, and he sub-consciously mapped out the likely rooms to find her in. The first place he ought to check was the mirror room - his mother had always taken a liking to it, the room full of antique mirrors lining the walls and lying on small tables that would light up like a fire if one were to open the curtains and let the sun in...

The thoughts kept him from noticing that he had reached a stair case, and the boy nearly tripped over it. Fortunately, he some how managed to catch himself, and began a slow, tiring walk up the massive marble structure. Maybe one day, Soul thought, he would be able to run up and down the stairs with ease.

Panting slightly once he had reached the top, Soul brushed imaginary dust off of his tuxedo coat, like he had seen adults do, and turned to head in the direction of the mirror room. Quickly reaching the slightly-opened door, his small hands groped for the shiny silver knob, twisting it in one direction, then realizing it was the wrong way, and then turning it in the other. He pushed it open to find with glee that he had been correct - his mother _was_ here. As was his brother.

"Oh - Soul Eater," his mother smiled at him from the center of the room, her favorite spot. Her dazzlingly white teeth were reflected everywhere, the point on each tooth standing out as brilliantly as every other detail that was Laura Evans. "How was your piano lesson today?"

"Good," he mumbled, realizing with a bit of embarrassment that he had forgotten to put his bag in the piano room, and that it still hung in his hand. "I learned a lot."

"That's good," Laura nodded, already reaching for another mirror to examine herself in. "I'm glad you're learning. One day you're going to be a great pianist, right?"

"Yes," Soul grinned, revealing his own set of shark-like teeth, although they were much smaller in comparison. Wes smiled as well - the eleven year old was currently polishing a few of their mother's smaller mirrors as per her request. Soul stared at the few gaps in his teeth in awe; his brother had explained that when you grew older your baby-teeth would fall out, and you would get grown up teeth. He was eager for his own to fall out, but Wes had also told him that it usually did not start until you were about five or six years old. He still had many years to wait.

He turned his attention back to his mother, who had been adjusting herself in front of one of the larger mirrors in the room, as she turned back to him to speak.

"That's what I like to hear. Come here, Wolfy," she lowered her voice to a low murmur - 'Wolfy' was Soul's secret name, and only his mother could call him that. "Give me a hug."

She stretched out her long, pale arms, already stooping gracefully towards the floor as the two year-old boy ran towards her, eyes sparkling with happiness.

"Grrrr!" he giggled, clasping his arms as tightly as he could around her legs as he felt her squeeze back.

"That's my wolf," she smiled. They both let out a quiet "oof" as Wes joined into the hug as well, before they all pulled back and Wes excused himself to go practice.

"Get just as good as your brother, okay?" Laura pinched her second son's cheek before standing up. "I'll expect nothing less."

"Yes ma'am!"

* * *

_As much as I regret saying this, the story won't be quite as dark do to Ookubo's revealing of some of the family's circumstances. Damn. But who knows, maybe I can twist it around so that it will._


	3. Argomento di Pranzo

**Brief Commentary:**  
Another revised chapter...review plzkthx. There isn't too much to this one, although incorporating Wes into every family scene is increasingly difficult. I'm interpreting him to be a sweet, slightly naive older brother who is mostly very poor at realizing bad situations (even when he's in one). Like I said, difficult to incorporate, this one...

_Do just what I tell you  
And no one will get hurt  
Don't come any closer  
'Cause I dunno how long I can hold my heart in two_

* * *

**The Evans Household**_  
The Subject of Dinner_

Just as the beginnings of Wes's violin were beginning to float up through the mansion, the faint rumbling of a car pulling into the Evans' massive driveway could be heard. Soul's eyes lit up as he realized what the car's arrival meant.

"Daddy is home!"

"Yes, he is," Laura smiled, patting Soul's head gently. "Can you be a big man, and maybe call him 'father' instead?"  
"Father?" the word seemed foreign on his tongue. "That's kind of hard."  
"If you use it, you'll be tough though, right?"

Soul paused. His mother really wanted him to address the head of the Evans family as 'father,' instead of 'daddy.' Well, if it made his mother happy, he would... The two year-old beamed.

"Father is home!"

His mother chuckled, and Soul couldn't have felt more pleased - if it made his mother _laugh_, anything would do.  
"Will he be eating dinner with us tonight?" he asked, as they began to walk out of the mirror room, hand in hand.  
"He will," Laura confirmed.

Her long nails felt funny against his soft palm, but he ignored the sensation, only glad to be holding hands with her as they slowly descended down the main staircase. Soul grinned as he caught sight of his father, making his way towards them. The grin grew to be as wide as his facial muscles would allow by the time Mr. Evans had reached the bottom of the staircase. Wes had beaten them to him, already exchanging brief "hellos" with Bradley before explaining that, yes, he had just been practicing before he had arrived. For how long; he had only just begun but he intended to go on for about three hours. The conversation halted when Bradley and Laura's eyes met.

"Bradley," his mother let go of his small hand to hurry forward, slithering her arms around her husband's neck as she kissed him gently on the lips. "How was work today?"

"As stressful as ever, I'm afraid," he sighed, giving her a quick hug before he handed off his coat and hat to waiting butlers. "For some reason, my two day replacement from last week felt the need to recheck all of the imports that came in several weeks beforehand, and to make matters worse, he did it _incorrectly. _And, of course, I wasn't informed until just this morning. Everything was in a turmoil today, trying to get everything reorganized."

"Welcome home, father," Soul piped up. Bradley blinked, as if just realizing he was there, and grinned. His teeth, larger and longer than his mothers, were terribly frightening to look directly at, but that was what Soul found so admirable about him. He could scare away anything if he wanted to.

"How was piano today, Soul Eater?"

"Good," he quickly remembered what he had told his mother, "I learned a lot."

"Wonderful to hear," he leaned down to ruffle his hair before righting himself again, glancing at Laura. "Is dinner ready?"  
"I imagine it will within a few minutes."  
"All right. Soul Eater, why don't you go change out of those clothes - you're at home now, no need to be so formal," he nodded at a servant who stood near by. She nodded and walked quietly forward, holding Soul's hand.  
"Come now, let's go change into something more comfy, hm?"

Soul glanced back at his parents as he was lead away, and they waved at him, before turning to speak in low voices to one another. Still slightly curious, but not quite old enough to care just yet, he allowed himself to be brought to his room, moving as he was directed by the servant as she removed his tuxedo jacket, his stiff white shirt, his shoes, socks, and eventually his pants. It felt a little weird, being half naked in front of somebody he didn't really know, but he decided that if his father said it was okay, it was okay. Wes had told him, once, that when he got older he could start dressing himself anyway. His older brother seemed to know almost everything.

He kept himself from whining as she slipped his least favorite shirt over his head (it was a dark orange - he thought it was an ugly color), and pulled up a black pair of slacks around his waist. She rolled equally black socks onto his feet, and put on a pair of his old, scuffled dress shoes. Finally, she combed back his slightly-mussed hair, then ushered him out.

"Dinner is ready," she bowed her head. "Please, go and eat with your brother and Mr. and Mrs. Evans."

He stared at her for a moment, and thought how silly she looked, in the plain servant's uniform (which looked like something out of a fairytale that took place in a castle), when he was dressed so modernly in comparison. Why did the uniforms look like that anyway? Shrugging it off, he smiled and said quickly,  
"'Kay."

He almost immediately found the staircase that would lead to the private dining room, forced to walk slowly down it for fear of tripping and falling. The remainder of his family were already waiting at the bottom, small smiles on their faces as he walked with them into the room. He already felt hungry just from seeing all of the food laid out, licking his lips as furtively as possible as he sat in the hard-wooden chair he loathed so much. Sub-consciously placing the cloth napkin in his lap, Soul waited until his mother's nod to begin quietly placing a two rolls on his plate, a servant stepping forward to butter them for him, then carefully cut them open.

Already having been scolded for chewing loudly before, he took extra caution trying to eat quietly, his mind making it into a game. If he made a noise any louder than when his mother called him 'Wolfy,' he lost and had to minus one bite of desert...just a small bite, though...

The rolls tasted so nice that after eating the two already on his plate, the two year-old was tempted to reach for some more. But he had also been scolded for that type of behavior, his mother concerned that he would lose his appetite as well as his manners. So he sat, fidgeting and waiting for the main course, which was supposed to be grilled chicken that evening, to arrive. He glanced over at his parents, who sat quietly eating their salads, faces calm. He glanced over at Wes, who also had a small helping of salad on his plate and his own half-eaten roll in his hand. The servants would not bring in the chicken until they were done, of course, so Soul was left feeling bored and even hungrier than before.

Oh, if only he could have another roll.

The boy scowled, tempted time and time again to just reach out and snatch one, but he forced himself still. Laura would become upset with him if he did, and Bradley would frown, and he might not be 'Wolfy' or 'big man' ever again and they might take away his dessert.

Fortunately, Wes seemed to sense his distress, his crimson eyes glancing from his younger brother to the small basket of bread rolls sitting innocently in the center of their moderately-sized table.

"Soul Eater, would you like another roll?" Wes inquired. Their parents glanced up momentarily before returning to their food. As well as being extraordinarily talented at playing musical instruments, the Evans were well-known for having notorious appetites and still managing to retain thin figures.

"Oh, thanks...I mean, thank you," Soul corrected himself. He tentatively reached for a bread roll, face dropping in disbelief as a servant snatched it out of his hand. Soul glanced up and realized that the servant was just buttering it and cutting it, like he had before, and he felt silly for thinking that it had been taken away as if he had done something wrong.

To compensate, he mumbled a shaky 'thank you' as the roll was placed back on his plate, and proceeded to eat it just in time for the chicken to be presented. Feeling his mouth water, Soul could almost taste the grilled "main course" as a portion of it was placed in front of him, already cut into small, bite-sized pieces. He waited until his parents began to eat before wolfing down the chicken as quietly as he could.

He froze as he felt his mother's gaze land on him, and he looked up with slightly fearful eyes to see her face. Her brow was a little furrowed, and her lips beginning to twitch into a frown.

"Soul Eater, you have sauce all over the outside of your mouth - please wipe it off," she motioned towards the napkin in his lap.

"Oh," Soul almost slumped over from relief, but instead took the cloth napkin out of his lap and began to vigorously rub his face with it, trying to guess were the sauce might be. Glancing up at his brother for direction, it took him several minutes to get all of it off, but it was worth it for the approving nod Laura gave him as she finished up the last of her own chicken.

Suddenly realizing how thirsty he was, he looked around to find his customary glass of milk, which was in it's usual spot - about four inches away from his dinner plate. Leaning over the table to try and get it, he felt a bit ridiculous when a servant swooped down and collected the cup for him. Sheepishly plopping back into the hard wooden seat, he gratefully accepted the glass and downed over half of the contents rather quickly. Knowing he was bound to have a milk-mustache, Soul almost wiped it away with the back of his hand, before remember that doing that meant bad manners. Instead, he reached again for the napkin in his laps and almost literally _scrubbed_ at his lips.

Once the boy was satisfied that his face was clean, he glanced towards the doors that lead to one of the kitchens, hoping someone would be bringing the dessert out soon. Although he had eaten all of his dinner (like a good little wolf, Laura had told him once or twice), Soul was, unsurprisingly, still hungry. Bradley, who had an appetite even larger than Soul's, smiled almost sympathetically at him, and signaled for the next course to be brought out.

He tried not to show his disappointment as a servant arrived with a small silver tray balancing four champagne glass filled with something that looked like chocolate pudding, and was confused when he saw the pleased expressions on his parents' faces. Wes seemed rather delighted as well.

"These are chocolate parfaits, Soul Eater. They're _very, very_ good," Laura assured him, catching the small frown that had briefly appeared on his lips.

"They really are," Wes agreed, eagerly accepting his own glass. Taking the thin spoon provided, the eleven year-old was already beginning to eat it.

He allowed the scowl to bloom across his face anyway. They certainly didn't look very, very good. It just looked like boring chocolate pudding, with different kinds pudding mixed in. The scowl deepened as one was placed in front of him. But he didn't _want it_.

"Try one bite," his mother persuaded him, "Just an eensy one. If you don't like it, you don't have to eat it."

Reluctant to disappoint her, Soul reached for the small spoon that had been set on top of a smaller cloth napkin, dipping the very edge into the parfait. Eyes narrowed in suspicion, the two year old grimaced as he stuck it in his mouth. He held the spoon there for a few seconds, his small red eyes slowly rising in some kind of realization, before Soul eagerly dunked it back in, scooping out a large glob and stuffing the silverware back through his lips. His family smiled knowingly, Laura softly reminding him to eat quietly and wipe his mouth.

Soul soon after left for bed, falling asleep just as his mother had tucked him in, gently pressed her lips to his small forehead, and left the room.

* * *

_Another chapter. This is a really good opportunity for me to correct typos...LOL.  
_


	4. Il Terzo Anniversario

**Brief Commentary:**  
Is it just me, or is anyone else getting alert e-mails from really late? It might just be my e-mail, who likes to be a bitch, but it's pretty irritating none-the-less. Anyway, I'm glad that people are fairly enthusiastic about the story - I'll definitely updating when I can - I'm just as eager to get Soul's story out there as you are to read it. :) -changes song from I.W.I.W.A.L. to some random music-

_Somewhere after midnight,  
In my wildest fantasy,_  
_Somewhere just beyond my reach,  
there's someone reaching back for me_

* * *

**The Evans Household  
**_The Third Anniversary  
_

The months passed, slowly but steadily, and soon Soul's third birthday had arrived. He was not quite old enough to grasp the concept of a birthday, nor what it meant, but he was able to understand that when people asked him his age, he could say that he was "three," and not "two."

As per the usual, hundreds of guests were present for the celebration, Soul being one of the prime centers of attention besides his parents. It seemed no matter where he went, there would be another old woman pinching at his cheeks, another man exclaiming how much he had matured already, another _guest_ fawning over him and not giving the three year-old any peace. Frankly, Soul had become exhausted not an hour and a half into the party - there were too many compliments, too many presents (which he wasn't allowed to open right away - that was bad manners), too many different kinds of cake. He honestly just wanted to trek up the staircase back to his room, change into his night clothes, and go to sleep.

But his mother would get upset with him, so Soul forced his eyes to stay open and smiled and said a small "thank you" to every guest who would tell him congratulations, or happy birthday, or look how much you've grown.

It was after an exceedingly overweight woman had stepped away from him, leaving his cheeks red and sore from a rather hard pinch, that Soul's attention had been completely recaptured by a boy who could only be roughly six or seven years old. The boy greeted him with a devilish smile, nodding his head and asking,

"Well, how's the birthday going for you?"

"Um..." Soul was dumbstruck with awe. He had not ever personally spoken to some one roughly his age - certainly, he had seen children walking along with their parents on the street, but his mother had always instructed for him to never intermingle with those kinds of people. "They're awfully dirty and awfully poor," her voice had been steely and frightening, but it eventually softened, "I don't want you to get dirty, Soul Eater, so please don't interact with them."

"It's good. Everyone is very nice," he said, feeling slightly guilty since it was a lie. The boy gave him a knowing look, and Soul suppressed a shiver. "Um, what is your name?"

"Daniel. Daniel Castillo," he introduced himself, bowing slightly before making a grab for Soul's hand. "I already know who you are, so let's go have fun at this dumb party. When are you gonna open all the presents, huh? There's too many, you know."

Soul stumbled a bit as he allowed himself to be dragged, eyes wide with wonder and his mouth frozen shut in respect. To his three year old mind, this boy, whom he had just met, was someone to be admired.

"My mother won't let me," he scrambled for words to explain, trying to seem clear headed. But it was so hard when Daniel was so...he didn't know what he was, but all he wanted to do was impress him. "She said that it's bad manners."

"Your _mom?_" Daniel's voice was laced with disbelief. "Are you kidding me?"

Soul dropped his gaze to the floor, suddenly ashamed.

"Y-yeah...I'm not allowed."

"Pfft," the boy muffled a laugh. "Who cares? Let's just grab a bunch and open them anyway - she won't notice, seriously. Oh, and my mom and dad got something really cool for you."

"A-are you sure?" the three year-old felt his face pale. But Laura would get so _mad_ at him...and his mother was so very frightening when she was mad...almost as frightening as his father... Soul shivered. "But we'll get in _trouble!_"

"You're afraid of getting into trouble? What are you, a baby?" Daniel narrowed his eyes into a glare, stopping his fast-paced walk but maintaining a tight grasp on Soul's hand.

"No, I'm n-not," he spluttered, cheeks heating red. "I'm three. Babies aren't even one...right?"

The boy rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, you are. Baby."

"Stop calling me a baby," Soul felt his lower lip tremble. "I don't like it."

"Baby, baby, baby, baaaaby," Daniel laughed, his voice teasing as he jeered at him. "You're such a baby, Soul Eater. What a dumb name, you know? Who names their kid Soul Eater?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he mumbled, feeling tears begin to prick at the corner of his vision. But he didn't _want _to cry. Then Daniel really _would _think he was a baby, and that would be just awful.

"Ah ha ha...why are you apologizing?" he grinned. "It's your weird parents who named you that - you can't help it, even if you're a baby. Anyway, let's open your presents now! I'm so bored, you know?"

"Um, really?"

"_Duh_," Daniel spoke as if it were obvious, before dragging him off. The table where the overwhelming stack of presents stood solemnly in front of the two young boys, seeming to glitter in the harsh light of many chandeliers.

"Whoa...I wish I got this many presents for my birthday," Daniel stared up at the massive pile, eyes as wide as saucers. Soul missed the greed and envy flashing in his eyes as he puffed his chest out a little in pride. "You're lucky, you baby."

He winced, quickly deflating. He was still calling him baby? Soul squirmed.

"Well, let's open this one first," he announced, snatching a larger present off of the table and crawling under it, easily concealed beneath the dark red table cloth that draped all the way to the floor. Nervously, Soul followed him, glancing around to make sure nobody was watching. The air beneath the table was stuffy and he was felt crowded, even though it was only himself and Daniel, who sat cross-legged opposite him, a hungry gleam in the boy's eyes.

Ripping off the ribbon and then the elaborate wrapping paper, Daniel grappled with the task of opening the cardboard box before he eventually tore the clear duct tape sealing it and forced open the flaps. He glanced inside and let out a low whistle. The boy reached inside to pull out a glass figurine shaped like a soul, a glass scythe looking as though it were cutting into it. Some engraving had been set into the base of the statue, but Soul could not read very well yet. Apparently Daniel could.

"You never told me you were a demon scythe," Daniel glared at him accusingly, causing the three year-old to shrink back. "Well, I'm gonna be a meister, so you're now my partner, okay? We'll get a million souls and Shinigami-sama will give me-I mean, us - lots of fame and money, you know?"

Soul stared at him in confusion. Demon scythe? What was that? And what was a meister? He made the mistake of asking these questions aloud, and received a deadpan look from the boy opposite him.

"What are you, stupid? You don't even know what you are?" Daniel sneered. "You _are_ dumb. Dumbo. That's what you are - you're nothing but a big dummy!"

He swallowed.

"No I'm not," he protested, but he was ignored as Daniel proceeded to sneak back out, grab another gift, and crawl back under.  
"Well, let's see what this one is," he said hastily, pulling yet another box out of a green and white spotted bag. "Why does everyone put their stuff in boxes?"

After a small bit of struggling, he pulled out a delicate-looking china piano, painted black with yet another engraving on the underside.

"You play the piano?"

"Um...yes," he admitted, voice cautious.

"That's dumb," Daniel told him flatly. "Don't you play any sports?"

"No." What was a sport? His mother had never told him what that was.

"Have you ever gone to a baseball game? Basketball?"

Soul shook his head, face slowly turning crimson.

"You _are _stupid."

"But my mother says I'm really smart," Soul tried to keep his lip from trembling again. He shouldn't cry! "She says so."

"She's lying, duh," Daniel rolled his eyes. "She just says that so that you don't feel stupid, even though you are. You need to get smart so you can be my demon scythe, geez. I won't be your partner if you're still dumb when we turn twelve, you know?"

"Sorry," Soul mumbled, fidgeting his fingers. "...I'll get smart, I promise."

He snorted. "I hope so, dummy."

"I'm not a-"

"Anyway, let's open another present," Daniel interrupted, and he crawled out yet again. "Maybe the next one will be cooler than a dumb old piano thing."

"...okay," he lowered his voice to a whisper, face burning with shame. Why did he feel so sad? He didn't want Daniel to think he was dumb, or a baby. He ground his shark-like teeth together, forcing back the tears that threatened to leak out onto his scrunched up, soft red face.

"Back," announced Daniel, pushing aside the table cloth to rejoin him, a smaller present in his hands. "This is the one my mom and dad got you. It's totally cool, you know? Hey, are you gonna cry?"

"No," Soul shook his head. "Can I open that one?"

Daniel shrugged and shoved it into his hands. With a sneer, he remarked,  
"I hope you can open it by yourself, dumb baby."

"But I can," he protested. "I know how."

"Then _do it._ Geez, you're slow."

Hastily, the three year-old tore off the wrapping paper, as he had seen Daniel do, and was surprised to find that the present was a small portable chess-set.

"What's this?"

"A chess-set, dumbo. And the pieces are made of ivory and marble," came the snide reply. "Anyway, now that you've gotten your cool present, let's go."

"But shouldn't we clean up?" Soul glanced at him in puzzlement. Laura had always instructed him to be a "gentleman" (whatever that was), and clean up his own messes; he would look sloppy and lazy if he always left everything to the servants.

"Clean up?" Daniel's voice was incredulous. "What're you talking about? That's what servants are for, you know?"

"But we should-"

"Would you shut up?" he snapped. "You're so annoying, dummy!"

Soul shrank back, flinching when Daniel grabbed his wrist and dragged him out from under the table.

"Come _on_, dummy."

Daniel glanced around the room, ignoring Soul, who was frightened and shocked from the boy's sharp command to close his mouth. Obviously, such a phrase had never been spoken to him, except for his father when he was _really_, _really_ angry. But that had only happened once, and his mother had eventually come into his room, made him apologize to his father, and made him feel better.

Soul stumbled for footing when Daniel pulled him up, glancing around and spotting the grand piano at the opposite end of the room and the crowd of people near by. A devilish grin rose to his lips, and the three year-old was dragged by the six or seven year-old over to it.

"Hey, everyone," he raised his voice, his tone polite but energetic and kindly-sounding, "Soul Eater has said he wants to play piano for you."

Soul's eyes widened in newly-found terror as the crowd turned with renewed interest to face him. He was pushed over to the grand piano, Daniel smirking and ushering him on.

"Come on, isn't that what you said you wanted? Play for everybody, Soul Eater."

* * *

_I like Mr. Daniel Castillo. His character is great fun to write. :D  
_


	5. Una Recital Inattesa

**Brief Commentary:**  
Aww, nobody likes Daniel? :( Oh well. He_ is_ a brat, isn't he? Eh heh...well, unfortunately, he will be hanging around for a while longer...anyway, thanks for all the enthusiastic reviews - I really appreciate them. This story will be going up until the day Soul meets Maka (or maybe the day he moves in with her?), then it will end. Because I think everyone has a pretty general idea of what happens after that, and I wouldn't want to bore you with a repeat of everything that's already happened in the series. LOL. Review if that's what pleases you, eh?

_The only way out  
Is letting your guard down  
And never die  
forgotten  
_

* * *

**The Evans Household**  
_An Unexpected Recital  
_

_"...isn't that what you said you wanted? Play for everybody, Soul Eater."_

Soul's ears rang from the suddenly apprehensive silence, the entire crowd's eyes directed on him. He glanced from them to the piano and back again, too horrified to move. He was startled when an elderly man cleared his throat, and realized that everyone, _everyone_ was waiting hear him play. But he wasn't even good yet! They wouldn't like it, and they would frown, clap politely then go away. He had only been playing for little more then a year - they thought he was good at it, but he _wasn't_, he just _knew_ he _wasn't._

"Well, Soul Eater, aren't you going to play?" a woman spoke up from somewhere in the crowd, her voice trying to sound pleasant. It didn't work, and she instead sounded impatient and demanding; Soul shrank back further towards the piano.

"Um," he shakily opened his mouth to decline, but before he knew what he was doing, he was already seated on the bench, arms stretching out to organize the sheet music already on the piano. His mind panicked.

_No, no, no! I don't want to! They won't like it, they'll think I'm awful, I just know it! I don't WANT to! No, make it stop! Make them go away!_

His fingers were already hovering apprehensively over the keys, and he gently pressed down onto the first three notes despite his own vehement protests. He played the tempo faster than he should have, and his brain screamed out at him to just stop, stop and end everything. Soul was so preoccupied with his concerns that he did not see, hear, or even feel the growing awe in the room as his three year-old fingers flowed over the piano.

The tune was simple - it was supposed to be happy and cheerful, a folk song from some place called Germany. But Soul had unconsciously made it dark and twisted as he played, despite the fact that the notes had remained exactly the same. The boy had not even noticed the silence descending upon the large room as he continued, suddenly wishing the piece wasn't so very long. Why couldn't he have chosen a shorter one? He nearly huffed at his own thoughtlessness, but continued on anyway, the tempo increasing in speed and its warped, dark tone.

Mouths begin to drop open; Soul felt the sudden change in energy (it went from expectant to something he could not yet identify) and shivered. Was he that terrible? Not wanting to embarrass himself further by ending it early, Soul renewed his determination to finish the simple piece. Said piece stood at a grand, intimidating three pages long, without the enlarged notes or childish suggestions or pictures.

After all, by his seventeenth lesson lesson (he had counted), Mr. Palander had decided he no longer needed such trivial guidance when practicing. The private teacher claimed that Soul had a natural talent, and congratulated him after playing a small tune to perfection. Somehow, the cheerfulness had seemed all wrong in the pitch black room, splotched with a few red objects here and there.

Soul's bright red eyes flickered to the third page, suddenly eager to finish the peace so that he could feign exhaustion and go to bed. He was a fourth of the way down the page...a third...a half...

His fingers whisked so quickly along the keyboard that some of the notes seemed to slur together, the occasional times when he was to gently press his foot to a pedal only enhancing the effect. But to Soul, he was going so achingly slowly that he felt that he might just faint from how much pressure he could feel - surely the crowd disliked it, _hated it_, even. He shivered again, and found with relief that he had only eight measures left.

Subconsciously slowing himself, Soul held the last note for a few extra seconds, then released the pedal from beneath his small foot. He retracted his hands to his side, and held his breath, mind beginning to launch into an inner-turmoil when he realized that no one was clapping. They just stood there, staring at him and the grand piano, completely stumped. He really _was_ horrible, if nobody even bothered to clap...

The three year-old visibly jumped at the sudden, enthusiastic applause, the loud tremor of hands upon hands ringing in his ears. Turning slowly in disbelief, he stared wide-eyed at the large grins on everyone's faces, and the awed expression worn by Daniel.

He wasn't _that_ good...

There were murmurs of "Wonderful!" and "Simply amazing!" as he slid off of the bench, and Soul was forced to duck his head in humility - his face was stained a bright red, and he hated it. Daniel trotted up to him and snatched his arm, dragging the boy away in yet another direction.

"You didn't tell me you were _good_ at the piano," Daniel stared at him; accusation was present in his voice, but it was heavily emphasized with the seven year old's awe. "And you made it so creepy, too, you know?"

"...creepy?" Soul glanced at him in confusion. "I just played it normal, not creepy."

He shook his head.

"No, it was definitely creepy. That song is s'posed to be cute," Daniel huffed, before humming some of it. Soul glanced at him.

"But that's what I played."

"No, you played it creepy! _Creepy! _It was pretty cool though," he nodded and patted him awkwardly on the back.

Soul opened his mouth to argue further, before he realized who had walked up in front of them. Daniel automatically bowed, mumbling,  
"Good, um, evening, Mrs. Evans."  
"Hmm, who were you?" his mother paused, before bearing her teeth in a slightly frightening grin. "Oh, yes, you're Kathryn's child, Daniel, aren't you?"  
He offered a small smile, eyes wide.  
"Yes, ma'am," he bowed again.  
"And such manners, too. Anyway, Soul Eater!"  
Soul snapped to attention.  
"You didn't tell me you wanted to preform for our guests! I only caught the end," Laura frowned. "I would have invited the others to see; according Mr. Dumoulin, you displayed a _fantastic_ performance. You'll have to play for your father and I again some time."

Her frown slowly turned into a smile, and she squatted down to meet her son's eyes. He felt his body shake with pride - his mother was _happy _to hear that he had played, and thought he was good enough to play for herself and his _father._

"Uh, uh, maybe," Soul nodded enthusiastically. "Soon?"

"Sure," her smile widened and she patted him on the shoulder, before standing upright again. "Have you eaten yet?"

He shook his head.

"Well, I ate some, but not a lot."

Laura clicked her tongue against her pointed teeth, before ushering him over to the buffet laid out in the center of the room. She gave him a firm look and handed him one of the china plates, reminding him not to drop it.

"Growing boys need to eat lots of food," she said sternly. "And with your appetite, you should be regularly eating that much for your meals, so that you grow slim and tall."

"Y-yes, mother," Soul said hastily. "I will."

"Good. Now go and eat," after a pause, she lowered her voice and added, "And if you still have room left over, you can have as much cake as you want, okay?"

"Uh, okay!" he nodded vigorously, before leaving her side to start down the buffet line. Daniel glanced from Laura to Soul, quickly deciding that he would rather stand by the boy than his mother has he started off in the direction the three year-old had just taken. Snatching a china plate for himself off of the table, he stood behind Soul in the slowly-moving line, piling up on food as Soul was doing.

"So," Daniel began. "What do you wanna do after this? It's boring to stand around and talk like grown ups, you know?"

Soul barely managed to suppress a yawn as he reached for one of the larger spoons used to scoop out a large helping of mashed potatoes. He had added a thick stream of gravy, before he glanced back at the boy.

"Um, well, I dunno."

He took a few steps forward as the woman in front of him did, and helped himself to a few slices of roast beef, not minding as some of the gravy on the mashed potatoes slid onto it. It might taste better that way, anyhow.

"Come on, you have to think of something. Or else I'll get bored," he felt Daniel's glare on his small back, and shuddered slightly before grabbing three rolls and two small packets of butter.

"Sorry, uh, let me eat first and we'll do something fun," Soul promised, voice shaky as they neared the end of the line. He glanced at his plate, full of vegetables, a few slices of fruit, meat, and with several wheat products - Laura would have been proud of him. The cakes looked extremely tempting, but it wouldn't be good for him if he ate a slice of cake first. Determinedly, Soul pushed his way past, setting his plate down on the table again to pick up a silver fork, knife and spoon. Placing the silverware haphazardly on said plate, he picked it back up in hopes to find a couple of empty chairs for Daniel and himself.

What he honestly wanted to do after eating was go to sleep, but Daniel obviously wouldn't like that idea at all. The boy's mind was at a blank as he took his spoon and took a bite from the mashed potatoes. He had absolutely _no_ idea what they could do - when he was bored, he colored in his small stack of coloring books, but Daniel might think that was boring.

The two took their time in eating slowly, Soul swallowing his last roll before drifting off to sleep in his chair. Daniel continued to eat without him for another twenty minutes, not even noticing the three year-old's state of rest, before he, too, drifted off. It was late, and both (Soul especially), were thoroughly exhausted from the day's events.

A few adults had found them that way, and after many remarks about how adorable it was to see two young boys sleeping side by side, Daniel's parents came and woke him, leading the sleepy child away. Soul was able to retain a bit more rest before he was awoken by his mother, after all the guests had left.

With a soft smile on her face, Laura held the three year-old by the hand and helped him upstairs, but not before ordering the servants to clean the excessively large room.

Soul didn't even remember crawling into his bed, or his mother kissing him on the cheek before he fell back asleep. Mrs. Evans stood back and admired her son for a few extra moments, almost marveling at how successful his future would be, with the proper guidance. There was so much opportunity in him, in her son, in Soul Eater.

"Carry our family's name well, Soul Eater Evans," she hissed softly, eyes darkening before she left the room.

* * *

_You have not seen the last of Daniel! Bwa ha ha ha ha..._


	6. Una Struttura Comincia a Sbriciolarsi

**Brief Commentary:**  
I totally meant to update this sooner, but I kind of forgot. :D So, erm, next chapter ahoy? (On a completely different subject, the second ending of the Soul Eater anime - see episode 14 - is PWNSOME) By the way, you may have noticed how all the chapter names displayed on the drop down are in another language, while their counterparts (displayed IN the chapters) are mostly in English. This other language is Italian, which is the language used for the majority of musical terms (such as _piano _and _forte_, as displayed in the second chapter).

* * *

**The Evans Household**_  
A Structure Begins to Crumble_

It was the morning after his third birthday party. Soul had just finished his breakfast (two pieces of toast with scrambled egg and bacon as a side), and was looking forward to the opportunity to open the remainder of his presents later that day. Exiting the smaller, secluded dining room, he began up the stairs, intending to change into proper clothes and out of his pajamas (his favorite, the ones with the blue and green dogs on it). This attempt was halted, however, by a servant who lightly tapped his shoulder. He jumped a little as she did so, as he had not seen her beforehand.

"Mr. Evans," she spoke softly. "Your mother, Mrs. Evans, requests your presence in the Mirror Room."  
"Um, excuse me?" Soul glanced at her, confused. She had used several big words, and he had absolutely no idea what they meant.  
"She would like you to come see her in the Mirror Room," the servant quickly rephrased, stumbling a little as she did so. "Now, please."  
"But I need to change out of my pajamas - "  
"She said, _now_," the servant interrupted him, giving him a warning look. "Please follow me."  
More than a little bewildered, the three year-old obediently followed her, feeling rightfully concerned. Usually he would be dressed up first, then presented to Laura. It would be rude, he thought, to be there in his pajamas.

Lost in his thoughts, Soul was rather surprised when the servant stopped and knocked on the door that lead to the Mirror Room.

"Mrs. Evans, your son is now here," she announced, raising her voice slightly, before slowly opening the door. Soul peaked in to see his mother, in her usual spot at the center of the room. As always, her glimmered reflection in every mirror matched the beauty that was Laura Evans, but her face was creased, strained. Her hair had been done up in a messy bun, which she only did when she was upset about something.

Suddenly cautious, Soul scrambled for footing when the servant gave him a light push inside of the room, closing the door firmly behind him. Eyes wide with slight fear and wariness, he swallowed and searched for his voice.

"Good morning, mother," he said politely, glancing at the floor as he spoke.

She slowly turned to look at him, and Soul nearly jumped back in fright, as her eyes glittered with a most terrifying glare that was reflected in every mirror in the room.

"Soul Eater," said Laura, her tone sharp, "The servants were cleaning up yesterday night after the party. In the ballroom you were in, three unwrapped and opened gifts were found beneath the very table that they were placed on. Curious, isn't it?"

His stomach dropped, and Soul began to shudder in dread. This was _why_, this was _why_ he hadn't wanted to open them...

"Did you know, Soul Eater, that it is extremely discourteous, in fact, extremely _rude_ to open gifts presented by guests, while the guests are still enjoying themselves at the party? While this is exhibited in poorer family's birthday traditions, this ill-mannered, _ill-BRED_ teaching is disgusting. Now tell me, Soul Eater, when I specifically instructed you not to..._why did you do it?_"

"I-I, well, I d-didn't want to," his entire body shook with fear and a crippling self-loathing as he tried to present his excuse, "But it was a-all D-Daniel's idea, he s-said that it would be f-fun-"

"If Daniel said it would be fun to throw yourself in front of a moving van, would you do it?" Laura snapped, voice as dangerous as splintered ice.

"N-no! B-but-" Soul's eyes widened further; his mother was getting _extremely_ angry.

"And how shameful of you, Soul Eater, to place the blame on a kind little gentleman who seemed quite eager to be your friend. Stop making excuses, please. Now tell me why you deliberately _disobeyed me_."

"I d-didn't mean to, I only opened o-one, and Daniel said it w-was from his f-family! He o-opened the p-piano and the s-statue, a-and I o-only opened the chess-set-"

"Stop making excuses!"

"I'm not!"

"_You're lying to me_," she accused, eyes narrowed into slits and her voice becoming quite deadly. "_Why are you lying to me?_"

"I'm not lying! I s-swear I'm not lying," Soul felt the familiar prick of tears behind his eyes, and knew it would be fruitless to try and keep from crying if this went on.

"_LIES!!"_ In a fit of rage, his mother grabbed a near by hand-held mirror and threw it at his head, Soul instinctively dropping to the floor and crying out as the mirror collided with one behind him and sprayed glass on the floor.

"_WHY DOES EVERYONE LIE TO ME!?_" Laura screeched, snatching up another small mirror and aiming for him again, this time narrowly missing the top of his head and sending a shower of broken glass directly onto him. "_I'M SICK OF EVERYONE LYING TO ME!! EVEN MY OWN SON...LIES, LIES, LIES, LIES!!_"

A wail escaped Soul's lips - he was scared now, really scared, something was wrong with his mother, and he was bleeding, and it hurt, and something was just _wrong_ with his mother...

"_MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT ALL STOP, STOP THE LYING, THE LIES!!_" her eyes were wide with something akin to insanity, her mouth open in a desperate attempt to release all of the pressure she felt in her mind, her arms jerking in awkward movements as she hurled mirror after mirror after mirror. She didn't seem to care that she too, was cut in several places, and bleeding rather heavily.

Soul, in a desperate attempt to hide, had crawled under one of the smaller tables that displayed a smaller, kindly-looking collection of mirrors, and could only stare and whimper at his mother, the blood bubbling up from beneath her skin and his, and her crazy eyes, and his own frightened eye in a fragment of a mirror that had slid not two feet away from him.

The door to the mirror room was suddenly flung open, Mr. Evans accompanied by several servants barging into the destructive scene. Bradley's eyes landed on his wife, in her fit of hysteria, and he immediately stepped forth to grasp her from behind, effectively trapping her flailing arms with his own. As the servants began searching for Soul in the virtually destroyed room, he set to murmuring comforting words in Laura's ears, even as she struggled against him. Several minutes passed before she calmed down and appeared to relax, although her eyes still retained a bit of their earlier insanity, and her mouth kept trying to form words on her tongue, but failing.

"I will never lie to you, Laura," he murmured (he had obviously heard her yelling quite clearly), teeth glinting in several of the mirror shards scatter about him, "You know that. We will reprimand Soul Eater, he will never lie again, never. _No one_ will lie to you ever again, not even _her_, I give you my word."

At this, she finally slumped against him in defeat, and seemed to fall asleep.

"Have you found Soul Eater?" he adjusted his grip on Laura before glancing at the servants, who were huddled around Soul's particular little table.

"Yes, sir," someone affirmed.

"He has been injured also, Mr. Evans," offered another, voice slightly flat. "But not lethally. He will not come out from under the table, however."

Soul watched warily as Bradley sighed, seemingly in disappointment, before he adjusted his grip on Laura a second time, preparing to carry her back to their bedroom.

"Make sure Laura is properly treated; I will get Soul, then you will see to it that he is also cared for."

There were murmurs of 'Yes, sir' as his father left the room, the servants then beginning to speak in hushed whispers.

"I always knew she was crazy," mumbled one of the female servants.

"Eccentric, is more like," was the correction. "What a wonderful way to keep your children from lying - simply _throw mirrors at their heads!_"

There was soft laughter, but it was not at all pleasant, and Soul shivered. It seemed mocking, taunting, cruel, even...

"Poor Soul Eater Evans. I feel so very sorry for him," came a third voice, and it didn't sound like they were very sorry at all. "Having a nut case for a mother. I wonder how he will turn out. Neither of them are very sane, actually; I imagine he'll turn out that way as well."

There were murmurs of 'True, very true,' before another servant cleared his throat, reminding them that regardless of how crazy Laura Evans was, they had to make sure she got medical help. There were reluctant grumbles, but they filed out of the room, leaving Soul by himself.

Tears were still rolling down his face, partially from pain, and partially from the remaining fear and humiliation. Sadness and a weak defiance burned in the pit of his stomach, as he tried to assure himself that his mother was _not_ crazy, she was perfectly all right, she had just gotten a bit mad because he had been rude and just awful.

He could not swallow the lump in his throat nor keep the remainder of the tears at bay, even as his father eventually returned to the decimated Mirror Room, relocating the table he was under with relative quickness and stopping down to see his son properly. Bradley looked as though he wanted to say something, from the way his mouth was open by just a few centimeters, but he closed it and merely offered Soul his hands.

The three year-old stared at them for a few moments, unsure of what he ought to do, before deciding that he was tired of being under the table, and grabbed onto his father's hands. Slowly, he was pulled out and lifted up, Bradley holding him firmly against his chest as the two left the Mirror Room for Soul's.

After a minute or so of walking, it was reached, and Soul found himself in bed again, his father muttering that the doctor would be there in a few minutes, before Mr. Evans left.

Closing the door behind him, he let out a sigh as he started off towards his and Laura's bedroom for a second time, preparing himself to speak with her over the idea that Soul had lied to her. The boy was so honest and eager to please, that he found it difficult to imagine, but perhaps if Laura thought their son was guilty of such a thing, then maybe it was so. And of course, for the sake of the future, Soul could not be disobedient, and he could not lie to his parents.

Bradley reached their bedroom door sooner than expected, and gave a soft knock on the hard wood before entering on his own, Laura still lying unconscious on the sheets as a few servants bustled about, rubbing disinfectant into the wounds, bandaging them up, checking to make sure she had not hurt herself else where. His face became grim.

If Soul was not who he was supposed to be, then everything might collapse into a ruin.

* * *

_All of a sudden I am TERRIBLY HUNGRY. D:  
_


	7. Ospite Indesiderabile

**Brief Commentary:**  
Inspiration strikes in some form or other. I dunno. :) I'm just eager to continue on with the story, I suppose. After the episode with Soul and his mother, I've been itching to write the next one, but oddly never got around to it. Anyhow, here it is. Reviewplz. :D

_You never tell me what is wrong,  
'cause now it's time to be alone.  
Let me love you every day,  
so long you let the dummies play..._

* * *

**The Evans Household**  
_Unwanted Guest_

Soul was still sniffling when the doctor left, as he had been given a shot on top of his traumatic experience - something he did not want to have to endure. His left shoulder felt a little bruised from it, the "Tetanus" vaccination, as he had been told.

"It'll keep any rust from the mirrors that cut your skin out of your blood. If it gets in your blood, your muscles get sick for a long time," explained one of the servants. "The shot will make sure you don't get sick, okay?"

The attempt to make him appreciative of the frightening needle had failed, as he still screamed, kicked, and cried in hopes to avoid it. Four more servants were needed to hold him down in order to administer the vaccine, the doctor trying her best to talk him through it, voice calm and soothing as she pressed the needle into his skin and injected the DPT as quickly as she could. As soon as she removed it, she expertly pressed a small band-aid to the site of puncture, and snuck a small caramel into his hand to compensate.

He had honestly thought that the caramel was not enough, but wasn't about to say so; the doctor might decide he needed _another_ shot. Soul had instead pretended each bandage that was applied hurt him immensely; each time a cut was touched, accidentally or no, he let out a small screech, which, at first, startled many of the servants. Eventually, they grew used to it, but they had humored him and cast him pitying looks every once in a while.

Presently, Bradley entered the room, glancing down at him with a serious expression on his face.

"Soul Eater, let's have a quick talk," he said, sitting down on the edge of Soul's bed. He nodded vigorously, wiping at his runny nose with his sleeve.

"Can you tell me, honestly, if you lied to your mother?"

"I didn't!" Soul cried out immediately, recoiling away from him. "I didn't lie, I swear. Daniel opened two, I opened one - I didn't open all of them, and Daniel wanted to open them-"

"Slow down," his father sighed, rubbing his forehead, "slow down. Let's try approaching this calmly."

His son nodded slowly, still appearing slightly hysteric as he edged underneath his bedsheets.

"You know it's very bad to lie, yes?"  
"Yeah, lying's bad!"  
"You're sure you didn't lie?"  
"_I didn-_"  
"Okay, okay, so you didn't. Why did your mother think you did?"

Soul stared at him, and it was easy to tell from his hopeless, almost desperate expression that he had no idea, and that he very much wanted to know why as well. Bradley sighed again, and Soul squirmed where he was, suddenly uncomfortable.

"Um, father?"  
"Yes, Soul Eater."  
"Why...why was mother so..." his three year-old mind searched for the best word to use. "uh, angry?"  
His father did not answer immediately, Soul recognizing that he had stepped, unwittingly, onto a dangerous subject.  
"Do you remember Grandma Catherine?"  
"She went to heaven before I was born," he recited quickly.  
"Yes, she did," Mr. Evans nodded, "But she was your mother's mother. Grandma Catherine was a little bit...well, she wasn't quite right in the head. So Grandma Catherine wasn't the best mother, and she didn't love your mother as much as your mother loves you."  
"Why?"  
"Because she wasn't right in the head."  
"Why?"  
"That's just how Grandma Catherine was born," he pushed on, despite Soul's mouth developing into another wh- sound. "Anyway, Grandma Catherine pretended she was a good mother, even though she wasn't, and your mother found out just before she married me. Your mother has always been very angry about people lying to her since then. I'm just sorry that she was angry enough to throw things at you..."

Soul stared at his father un-comprehensively, before scratching his cheek and slumping back against his pillows.

"Okay," he said, before pausing and asking, "Can I have some chicken noodle soup?"

Bradley managed to crack a small smile.

"Sure thing. I'll go talk to your mother again, and I'll have someone send up a bowl for you."

"Thank you very much!" the three year-old chirped, grinning and bearing his small, shark-like teeth for his father to see. Mr. Evans' smile grew a little bigger at this, before he shrugged his shoulders and left the room. Soul did not see the smile quickly vanish and his father's face turn hard as soon as the door had closed behind him, and only waited eagerly for his soup, almost forgetting the bruise-like affliction on his left shoulder.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon when Soul finally received the okay for walking around again after hours of fidgeting, and was anxious to open the remainder of his presents. After being dressed, he almost raced downstairs to the lobby, but realized that his mother would probably even angrier at him for opening more gifts without her knowing or permission. Instead, Soul made his way to his parents' room, cautiously, almost fearfully opening the door to peer inside.

Laura still lay on their bed, just as bandaged as he was, but noticeably calmer and more relaxed. She lifted her head slightly to see her son, and beckoned him forward with a finger. Unwilling to disobey, he did as asked, and quickly made his way to the bed side. He tried smiling at her, and was encouraged by the fluttering upturn of her lips that she gave in return.

"Soul Eater," she murmured, extending a slightly bandaged hand to stroke his head. "I'm so sorry about this morning; look at you, you're all hurt..."

Soul shook his head vigorously.

"It's okay, it's my fault," he told her, simply because it was the only thing he could think of saying. "It's okay."

"So, what do you need?" Laura breezed on as if she hadn't heard him. "Is something the matter?"

"Oh, no, I was just wondering, uh...could I possibly open some of my presents some more?"

The three year-old flinched as his mother stiffened, staring wide-eyed at her before relaxing as she did. She sighed, then nodded.

"Go ahead...but, please, don't open any more behind my back, okay, Soul Eater?"

"Okay, I promise."

"Alright, and by the way, I've invited that child you were with last night...oh, his name wasn't Dennis, it was something else...anyway, he's here, too," Laura informed him. "Have fun."

Soul felt his stomach drop in dread, but forced a smile to his face before nodding, waving at his mother before exiting the room. All of a sudden he didn't want to open his presents - not if Daniel was there again. Maybe if later on, when he left, if he told his parents that he and Daniel weren't friends anymore - but no, unless they got into a fight (which wasn't likely, as Soul still felt that sense of admiration for him), that really _would_ be lying...

He shook his head and tried to put on a straight face, making his way slowly downstairs, wondering which room the gifts would be located in. He took a guess and made for one of the nearby sitting rooms, faintly surprised to hear Daniel's raised voice, chattering on about something. But to whom? A servant? Soul frowned and made his way towards the door, which had been left open just a crack. He forcefully pushed it open (as it was rather heavy for someone of his stature), the loud squeaking noise that emitted from its hinges announcing the three year-old's presence.

His eyes immediately met Daniel's, and realized with bewilderment that Daniel had been talking to...himself? There was no one else in the room.

"Oh, it's you," the six or seven year-old in question stood and brushed imaginary dust off of his shorts, like adults often seemed to do. Daniel was presently in a pair of green shorts with a white polo t-shirt (a pale blue hankercheif in a barely-noticeable breast pocket), knee-high socks, and brown dress shoes, although a little less formal.

"...Hello," Soul tried cautiously. "How are you?"

"I'm good," Daniel affirmed, nodding briskly. Noticing Soul's slightly bandaged condition, he asked, "What the heck happened to you?"

"Uh, it was a bad accident," he lied, although a warning bell went off in his head against it.

"Huh," he glanced at him a moment longer, before turning his face away and adding, "I haven't been here long, in case you were wondering. Anyway, let's open some more presents, okay?"

"Uh, sure..." Soul reached for a box, glancing at his companion as he did so. "Um, can you put the presents back in the boxes or whatever, so that we can write the thank you cards better?"

The six or seven year-old snorted dismissively, but after a few seconds, nodded, before snatching a moderately-sized gift off of the floor and proceeding to tear it open.

"How lame - just a weird-looking clock," Soul thought he heard him sneer, but he had already turned his attention to the box in his hands. Awkwardly tearing off the stripe-print wrapping paper, the three year-old struggled with opening the box properly for a few minutes before he managed to pry the lids apart, reaching blindly inside for the gift.

He pulled out a ball that looked as though it were coated with gold, just large enough to fit comfortably in his hands. Staring at it curiously for a moment, Soul eventually dropped it back into the box, pushing said object away in favor of reaching for a bag that sat near him.

After a while, the two boys began to grow tired of opening gift after gift after gift; when each present was so predictable, the usually exciting task became quite boring. This agreement was mutual, and, without saying a word, the pair ventured outside the room, wondering what they ought to do next as they passed room after room.

"Hey, play your piano for me again," Daniel said suddenly, as they walked by another sitting room; it contained one of their grand pianos as well as a few chairs and couches for extra seating.

"But I don't want-"

"Shut up, you play good so play for _me!_" was the sharp retort, Soul trying not to meet the other boy's freezing glare.

"...okay," he mumbled reluctantly. "But my music sheets I use for practice are in another room."

"Let's go get them then, geez!" Daniel rolled his eyes, as if he were speaking to a moron. "Race you there!"

"Wait-"

But Daniel was already running away from, his triumphant laugh bouncing off of the marble interior of the Evans mansion as he went. Soul faltered, and he considered accidentally "losing track of" Daniel, but decided against it. His pursuit was still half-hearted, however, as he didn't really feel that losing Daniel would be such a bad thing, despite how much he admired the boy.

Much to his dismay, he saw Daniel run up one of the staircases, and tiredly followed, not nearly as nimble - his three year-old body was still quite chubby and undeveloped. It took him longer than he thought was necessary to reach the top of the stairs, and making his way over to the six or seven year-old, he froze as he realized where Daniel had stopped.

"Whoa..." the boy stared in what seemed to be a mixture of fascination and repulsion. "What the heck happened in _here?_"

Daniel had just caught sight of the ruins that had previously been the Mirror Room.

* * *

_Oh mai...  
_


	8. Parte Indesiderabile due Dell'ospite

**Brief Commentary:  
**Well, here we go! After a few exercises, I'm back on track and updating once again. Yay! I don't know how much people have missed this (I doubt it's been missed at all, really), but here's the next chapter for you all. Let's see if I can speed up my chapter-writing skills, ne? Reviews would also be nice. ;)

* * *

**The Evans Household  
**_Unwanted Guest Pt. II_

Daniel's eyes whipped expectantly towards Soul, whose expression had mutated into one of dread and horror. He backed away a few awkward steps, as if hoping that would make the current scene disappear.

"Well?" the seven year-old boy demanded, eye brows furrowing. He glared back into the room again, appearing rather curious and impatient. "Did one of the servants go on a rampage or something?"

A small smirk made it's way to his face as he said this.

"Or maybe _you_ did?"

"No!" Soul squeaked, shaking his head vigorously, before clapping his chubby hands over his mouth.

"Then who did? Oh my gosh, there's even blood in some places!" Daniel's eyes positively lit up at this discovery, and the seven year-old gingerly stepped towards the room.

"Don't go in there!" he nearly wailed, "You can't go in!"

"Why not?"

"..it's not allowed - it has to be cleaned up!" Soul said, withering a bit from the blatant lie. It probably wasn't of concern to anyone but his parents who went in the room or not. And from the attitude of the servants, they certainly wouldn't be repairing the room's condition any time soon.

"Who cares?" Daniel shrugged and disappeared inside anyway, muttering something to himself.

"No, stop it!" Soul begged, clambering in after him. "Please-"

"Whoa, it's even cooler when you see _everything_," he marveled, carefully picking up a glass shard. "This one's got some blood on it."

Soul bit his lip nervously and shifted his weight from leg to leg, standing quietly by the doorway while Daniel continued his exploring. The seven year old kept making muffled exclamation whenever he found a bloodstain on a table cloth, or a particularly jagged piece of the reflective glass, picking one up and setting another down as he tried to decide which would look scarier if he held onto it. Soul only wanted to get out of the room; sweat was beginning to gather on his skin and his face grew paler as the events of that morning came back to him.

"Hey, you wanted to hear my piano, right?" he blurted out, voice loud from his anxiety. "Well, let's get my music and I'll play, okay?"

Daniel glanced backwards at him, slightly startled at his volume level, but nodded after a few seconds, slipping a slightly bloodied shard into his short's pocket, before following Soul quietly out of the room.

"Are you going to play it creepy again? Because when you did yesterday it was pretty cool," Daniel commented after a few moments of silence, walking directly behind Soul as the three year-old lead the way to one of the music rooms.

"I told you," he said, "I never played it creepy."

"Yes you did," argued the elder of the two boys, but he fell silent. Neither of them felt like arguing with the other at the moment.

They were just turning a corner when Daniel spoke up again.

"Hey, can you turn into a scythe yet? I wanna see. I heard your dad's scythe-mode or whatever looked _really_ awesome. Didn't his meister get shot or something?"

"I dunno," Soul mumbled, being honest. He had yet to see his father's scythe form, or hear about his parents' former 'meisters.' He still wasn't quite sure what it meant to _be_ a scythe, let alone change _forms_. Could he really do that?

"Come on, try," he urged. "I wanna see!"

"...I don't know how," the three year-old admitted, ducking his head. "I'm not sure what to do..."

"Well, pretend you're a scythe! Make a picture in your mind, y'know? It's s'posed to be really easy for you scythes to turn into scythes, right?"

"Dunno," he said, and squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to remember what a such a thing looked like, and the glass figurine of the scythe and the soul came to mind. Soul attempted to imagine himself as the scythe, cutting into the soul. The soul would cut like a spoon through ice cream, and he nearly smiled at the thought of the dessert.

Suddenly the floor disappeared beneath him, and he let out a surprised grunt as he hit the floor with a painful _CLANG!_ He heard Daniel gasp, and glanced up at him, confused by the awed look on his face.

"Whoa, that looks _awesome!_ Like, awesomer than your dad!"

"What?"

Soul turned his head behind him to see what Daniel was marveling over, feeling further confused when he felt nothing. He flinched when Daniel picked him up, the seven year old letting out a groan as he did so.

"You're _heavy,_ Evans!"

Wait, how was he picking him up...?

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGH!!" Soul tried to pry Daniel's hands off of him, but his own small hands met what felt like a thick layer of metal...only, clear.

"What's this stuff?"  
"What stuff?"  
"This!" He pounded on the invisible force for emphasis.  
"It's your blade, stupid," Daniel snorted. "You're a scythe, right? I can see your face in the blade, y'know?"  
"It's creepy! I wanna get out of it," Soul frowned, weakly punching the barrier. "I don't like it."  
"Well I can't do anything - _you're _the weapon," he rolled his eyes and, with effort, swung Soul around a few times. "Get out by yourself."  
"I don't know how!"

Not knowing what else he could do, Soul tried slamming his small body against the barrier, effectively shaking himself. Daniel told him to stop shaking the scythe. He tried a few more times, then kicking and punching. The metal-like substance did not yield to Soul's efforts, much to his frustration and growing fear (not to mention slight claustrophobia).

"Hey, what's going on? Get me out of here!" he cried, pounding on whatever held him back. "Help!"

"Calm down, you baby!" Daniel glared down at him, readjusting his grip. "It's hard enough picking you up when you _aren't _doing that."

"I wanna change back! Get me out of here, please!" his voice rose up to a desperate wail. "It's scary!"

"Well you look totally cool, you know. Don't change back yet," Daniel grunted as he tried to swing him around. "Heavy..."

"Stop it! You're hurting me!" he said, wincing as he felt the beginning of bruises on his body; Daniel's grip had tightened drastically around him. He pounded on the clear metal again, feeling the beginning of tears and a choking sensation in the back of his throat. "I wanna change back!"

"Fine, fine!" he dropped him to the floor, Soul crying out as he hit the floor with another metallic _CLANG! _He had landed so that he lay flat out on his back. "Change back already!"

"Ow!"

Soul shook his head and looked up at Daniel again, before squeezing his eyes shut and imaging his regular self, like when he looked in the mirror. He opened his eyes and extended his hand towards Daniel again, freezing when his fingers smacked into the metal. He tried imagining himself again, and thrust his palm out, his fingers offering a bit of protection from the bright lighting. The terrible, invisible resistance was still there.

"I can't! Help me!"

"What? But it should be easy! Just pretend to be regular again!"

"I did, it didn't work!" Soul choked, trying not to cry, "Help! Please! I want to change back! I'm scared!"

He felt panic begin to swell in his chest when Daniel's eyes widened, and a desperate expression spread onto the seven year-old's face as well.

"I-I don't know, then! Ummm, I'll ask your dad, okay? Where is he?"

"I dunno, ask somebody else!" he wailed, rubbing one of his eyes as his tear ducts began to overflow against his will.

"I'll ask a servant, okay? Stay there!"

_But I can't move!_ Soul protested, sniffling and rubbing his nose, the unfamiliar sensation of tears sliding into his hair just adding onto his stress. _I wanna change back! Somebody help me turn back to normal - I hate this!_

He lay in mental agony for several unbearable minutes, before the sound of two pairs of hurried footsteps drifted closer to his situation on the floor.

"What...what is this...?" he heard his father's voice, and his eyes searched frantically for his face.

"Father, it's me!" Soul raised his voice, slapping his palms against the metal. "Please get me out!"

"Soul Eater?" Bradley Evan's stared down at him in bewilderment. "How the hell..."

"He changed into a scythe, somehow, sir," Daniel scrambled for words, clearly intimidated by him. "And we couldn't figure out how to change him back, so I thought maybe if some one knew, it might be you, sir..."

"What have you tried?" Bradley's face grew serious as he squatted down, examining his son with only his piercing, scrutinizing gaze.

"I tried to pretend to be normal," Soul told him, furiously rubbing away the left over tears staining his cheeks. "But it didn't work."

"Anything else?"  
"Nuh uh..."

"I see," Bradley pinched the bridge of his nose in agitation, then sighed. "All right, Soul Eater, this'll be a bit tough, since we're both scythes; even for me. But I need you to let me touch your soul. Since you're small, you won't have noticed yet, but there's something like a switch in the back of your mind that allows you to change from being a person to a scythe. If some one is touching, or aligning with, your soul, they can access this too...but only if you trust them completely. Are you getting this?"

Soul nodded quickly, although most of the words had flown over his head. He glanced over at Daniel, who stood motionlessly near by, eyes a littler glazed over.

"I understand. Can you make me a person again?" he asked, ignoring the impulse to beg. His father wouldn't approve if he did.

"I will. But usually this will be done by the person who takes on the role as your meister - you might not notice something wrong now, but once your meister has done it, you'll feel much righter about it," Bradley nodded, before gently placing a hand on Soul's blade.

Something like a warm electric shock spread through his body, Soul letting out a small yelp before he felt his muscles begin to twitch and his fingers begin to spasm.

"What's happen-"

A screech ensued from his mouth as something painfully tight closed in around his upper abdomen, as if his very life force was being squeezed - it was the most painful thing he had ever endured-

And then it was over, and Soul was lying on the floor, sweaty and panting. Slowly, cautiously, the three year-old lifted his hand, stretching it towards the ceiling. His entire body seemed to relax with relief when no outside force was met, and he allowed his arm to fall back to his side. He glanced over at his father, who also seemed a little shaken by the experience, and tried to grin.

"Thank you, father," Soul breathed, shutting his eyes before opening them again. "Thank you very much."

"Don't mention it, Soul Eater," Bradley quickly composed himself and grasped Soul's wrists, slowly lifting his son up. "Well, it's certainly been exciting, but I was in the middle of something when Mr. Castillo alerted me of the...situation."

He glanced at Daniel for a moment, the seven year-old immediately straightening up and bowing his head apologetically.

"Anyway, I'll see you at dinner." Bradley paused before he patted Soul's head, and left the boys as they were to dust themselves off.

As he turned the corner, his eyes narrowed, lips turning into a grimace. So, Soul had discovered his position as a scythe, then...it was certainly earlier than they had planned, but it would have to do... It would be safest just to keep this between himself and Laura. It would be dangerous if the "public" (a.k.a. their close business "friends") were to find out just yet.

* * *

_Updates are so wonderful. -grins- I should honestly do it more often - the sense of accomplishment is just amazing.  
_


	9. Nessun Commercio Facile

**Brief Commentary:**  
Updates, updates, la la la...heehee. :P Well, anyway, moving on. We're skipping ahead a bit here, but not too much. I didn't feel like sending Daniel off of anything, so I decided I'd skip to the more important part, you know? It's not like that many people like Daniel anyway (sob). You're probably more interested in something more crucialish to the plot, so here you go. After another chapter or so, things will really start to get rolling. ;o Will you review? Or will you?

_Kono yubi tomare watashi no yubi ni  
Sono yubi goto tsuretette ageru  
Higurashi ga naku akazu no mori e  
Ato modori wa mou dekinai_

* * *

**The Evans Household  
**_No Easy Business_

Fall had arrived, shortly after Soul had discovered his scythe form, and Daniel had to go back to school. This was to Soul's unvoiced relief, but soon he found that he had other things to be concerned about besides his half-friend, half-antagonist. His father's attitude had changed, sobered after he learned of Soul's new ability (although it had been nothing less than he had expected), and warned him that he would be put through tough training to make sure he could change quickly, easily, and efficiently.  
This also included beginning to build up his physical strength so that he might expand his soul wavelength and preform better in battle, but that was to come later, when his baby fat had disappeared and his muscles were truly ready for development.

It was one September afternoon when his father beckoned him outside into their massive backyard, informing his son that today they would just focus on partially transforming, a much easier task than transforming one's whole body. Laura had followed in order to watch and give hints - she was a weapon as well, after all, and skilled in some areas where her husband was not, as amazing as his scythe form was rumored to be. She stood to observe from their massive patio.

Before they started, Bradley made Soul stretch himself out and do a few exercises - the three year-old's face was already shining with a thin layer of sweat by the time they had finished, having been forced to do a series of push ups, curl ups, and sprints around the massive yard. His body was rather new to this, and it took him more than a few seconds to catch his breath.

When he had, his father was impatient to begin.

"Firstly, I want you to focus solely on your left arm. Feel the pulse in it, find each individual nerve, and allow your mind to wander up and down it; think of nothing but your arm."

"Um..." Soul scrunched up his face, and stared at the limb in question, feeling an anxious confusion more than his left arm. "...okay..."

"Focus, Soul Eater. You have to focus."

"Right," he nodded vigorously, and tried to stare as hard as he could. He felt some kind of fuzzy sensation running through it, and wondered if, perhaps, that was how it felt to "allow your mind to wander up and down it." Soul couldn't know for certain, but he assumed that's what it was (he hadn't yet learned the concept of an arm 'falling asleep,' but this was a different sensation altogether).

"Okay, now try to find that switch I told you about. It's in the back of your mind - once you've got it, don't flick the switch all the way through - try only half."

Soul screwed his eyes shut, trying to imagine some kind of light switch-like object in the back of his skull. The switch's options, instead of 'On' and 'Off,' would read 'Regular' and 'Weapon,' and it would be yellow, his favorite color. Still feeling the tingling in his arm, he imagined himself flicking the switch half-way down, so that it was in between 'Regular' and 'Weapon.' The fuzzy sensation in his arm changed into a thrumming vibration, as if he were pressing his foot heavily onto the sustaining pedal of an invisible piano. His mother's small gasp of surprise caused his eyes to snap open, and he briefly saw in place of his left arm the blade of a scythe, before it seemed to flash back into an arm again.

"Very good, Soul Eater, very good," his father allowed, a small smirk of satisfaction on Bradley's face. "For some one of your age, this is already excellent progress. This time, keep your concentration and try holding your arm as a blade for a full minute."

Soul glanced briefly to his mother, who nodded for him to do so.

"Okay," he agreed, and closed his eyes again, pulling the image of the yellow light switch back into his mind again. It was harder to imagine himself flicking the switch again, after all, he was excited. He had just been praised by the both of his parents, told that his accomplishment had been impressive, and now they wanted to see him do more. He felt his heart positively throbbing with pride, and it took him a minute or two to try and focus again - if he kept them waiting too long, Bradley and Laura might get upset.

His imaginary hand darted towards the switch again, before carefully setting it half-way for the second time. The thrumming in his arm grew stronger. Soul slowly opened his eyes, staring in amazement as he found that his arm was no longer an arm but a scythe. Awkwardly, he attempted to move it, but found he couldn't. Bradley inhaled and exhaled loudly, and bared his teeth in a grin.

"Hold it like that, Soul Eater, only forty-five more seconds. Eventually we want to be able to hold it like this for about fifteen, twenty minutes. But that will come later."

Soul vigorously nodded his head, in response grinning his shark-like smile from ear to ear. He was sure any child anywhere else couldn't ever feel half as happy and content as he did now; receiving praise from his parents, for him, was on par with winning several million dollars.

Fifteen seconds passed, and the transformation of his arm began to take its toll on the excited three year-old. Soon he felt his legs shaking with effort, and sweat kept building up on his forehead; so much that he continuously had to wipe it away. His breaths came shorter and more frequent, and it became harder for him to stand up straight. Bradley didn't appear to notice, so Soul tried to bear it. Perhaps this sudden exhaustion was quite normal, and he would just have to get used to it.

But simply getting used to it proved difficult. It felt as though his scythe-arm was slowly sucking at his energy, drawing at something deep within him . To Soul, it felt like it was killing him internally. He really wanted to stop, quit, and go sleep for days and days. But he couldn't; his parents wanted him to do this.

"Twenty seconds left, Soul Eater. Keep it up," his father nodded, and even he was looking a bit excited by now. Soul thought he caught a glimpse of his mother smiling; and the smile seemed pleasant, genuine. He couldn't be sure, because he was forced to look back to his arm again, to try and concentrate for less than twenty more seconds...

But how was he supposed to concentrate when he felt like he was slowly going to die?

He scrunched his eyes closed and resisted the temptation to hunch forward, already knowing that it would do him little good and that he had a high probability of getting scolded for it. Perhaps not by Bradley, but by Laura, who had always chided him whenever he exhibited incorrect posture.

"If little wolves are going to learn their proper manners, they have to learn them early so that they will always remember," she had explained in a low voice, her voice just for him. "Does that sound right to you?"

Soul had always nodded and agreed that it did.

"Ten more seconds, Soul Eater," he was dimly aware of his father announcing this - Bradley's voice seemed very faint, as if he were far away instead of three meters apart from him.

_Only ten more...see, it's like counting with fingers - ten, nine, eight... _he tried to distract himself from the thought that he might be dead by the time ten seconds were up. Or so he thought; the worst that might happen to him would be a collapse directly onto the ground, face-plant and all.

_Five, four, three, two..._

"Alright, excellent work. You might be extremely tired right now, but in order for the exhaustion to go away, you need to find the switch again in order to turn your arm back into an arm."

Soul gave his father a shaky nod, before he struggled to imagine the light switch for the third time. It took him almost twenty seconds in order to do so, and by then he felt as though he were on the verge of fainting. He pulled the image of his hand out again, and had it flick the switch fully onto 'Regular.' With a strange _swoosh_ noise that he hadn't noticed earlier, his arm became an arm once more. And Soul fell to his knees, feeling just about ready to die.

"Ah, see, this is the problem with training him at this age," Laura said, joining them in the grass. "We've no souls to resupply his energy with..."

"Well, that can be solved," said Bradley. "Perhaps if I sent a request to Shinigami-sama?"

"...I suppose," she agreed, if not a bit slowly. "But Soul Eater is still exhausted. Why did you have him take a full minute? Even _you_ started out with thirty seconds."

He smirked.

"I have confidence in my son; and he did not fail to meet my expectations."

"Whether he has your confidence or not, he's still drained. It'll take days to feed him enough food so that it can actually nourish his soul back to full strength."

Soul heard little of this conversation over the sound of his blood roaring through his head; he was almost certain that his face was flushed a brilliant red, and that he must be positively dripping with sweat. It was the most uncomfortable sensation, and he wished he could simply go to sleep.

"He can eat as much as he wants," Bradley shrugged, "Of course, a soul is always best after maintaining weapon form for a long period of time...best for the soul, anyway. On terms of strength...I expect that Soul Eater will easily begin to build it up."

"Perhaps not easily," his wife argued. "You forget that this child is at a mere three years old; you and I began this kind of training when we were but five."

"It is to his misfortune that he discovered his weapon form at such an early age. I _would_ like to know who exposed him to it," he narrowed his eyes. "but it's for his own personal safety that I am putting him through this."

Laura sighed and muttered something to herself, before turning her attention back to Soul, who was currently trying to keep himself from falling any further on the ground. He had remained on his knees, but he had been forced to brace his arms against the grass in order to keep himself up. Soul's gaze flickered up to meet her eyes, and he sagged with relief at the proud, satisfied expression on her face as she offered him her hands, smooth and lithe.

"Well done, Soul Eater," she said. "Well done. Work hard, and you will become a magnificent Death Scythe."

"What is a...Death Scythe?" Soul breathed, eyes widening in awe at how amazing those two simple words, "Death" and "Scythe" sounded together.

"Perhaps while you're restoring your soul's energy - that is why you're so tired right now - your father can explain a few things to you," Laura glanced to her husband, who nodded.

"...okay."

* * *

_Sorry, this came later than expected. - -;; My bad, my bad. I probably won't be able to update for a while, since we have...sncnhnononl right around the corner. :( Sucks, does it not?  
_


	10. Bianco e Colore Rosso

**Brief Commentary:**  
I attempted to squeeze this last chapter out before school gets _too_ busy...agh, this sucks. D: Oh well. Join Soul on his next adventure while I go wither away and die...while you're at it, would you mind giving my corpse a poke/reviewing?

Guess what I listened to for most of the chapter? The song's written right in the chapter. Ees nice. I actually listened to the variation by Emile Pandolfi.

But besides that...who else has had heard of Kerli? Isn't she EPIC!?

_There's a little creepy house  
In a little creepy place_  
_Little creepy town  
In a little creepy world  
Little creepy girl  
With her little creepy face  
Saying funny things that you have never heard..._

* * *

**The Evans Household**  
_White and Red  
_

Soul endured the energy-sapping training for a long three weeks, until his father announced that it was sensible for them to stop. By that time, Soul was able to hold his arm in its scythe form for roughly nine to ten minutes. Bradley had suggested a two month break until they would do similar training involving Soul's right arm. He had been reluctant to agree, but he did so anyway.

During those agonizing three weeks, all Soul had been able to do was eat, train, sleep, eat, practice his piano, sleep, and train again. The cycle had seemed endless, and privately, the three year-old was happy to have and enjoy his two month break. Through-out said break, he would have to focus on his piano practicing significantly more, but Soul figured that he would've been required to do this even if he hadn't gone through his "weapon training."

The boy had begun to notice strange things about his piano teacher, however. The round, grubby man had taken to coughing and hacking at frequent intervals, and he drank the supposed "medication" for it even more frequently. It was a thick liquid substance, an unappealing shade of brownish-purple in color, and Soul was certain it tasted even worse. But Mr. Palander drank a lot of it, and if the taste _was_ as bad as he thought, the man certainly didn't show it. Even though he took it so often, it didn't seem to help hi much at all; it actually seemed to make it worse. Soul thought he had glimpsed blood on Mr. Palander's fat hands a few times when he uncovered his mouth after another coughing fit.

However, Mr. Palander never spoke of his health problem, so Soul decided it would probably be best if he did the same. As if to compensate for his piano teacher's poor condition, he put in more effort than usual when playing for him or practicing. The round instructor never really said anything about that, either, but he did seem to appreciate it the silent gesture. He had even taken to giving Soul a few more compliments than he usually did.

Soul always entered and exited the lesson as if nothing were amiss, and whenever Laura or Bradley asked how it might have gone, he responded with the usual "It was good. I learned a lot." They seemed to be satisfied with his routine answer, and nothing more would be said except for the occasional reminder to practice. Over a period of one year, Soul had some how miraculously advanced from simple, childish tunes, to pieces such as 'To a Wild Rose,' by Edward Macdowell, and whenever he played that in itself, Mr. Palander seemed to have no complaints.

He listened as hard as he could, as well, for the "creepiness" that Daniel had described, but it sounded perfectly normal to him. Its tuning was perfect, the song itself similar to the way Mr. Palender played it and his very old recording of it did. Of course, as he was a different person, he would play it a bit differently, and it might have a different sound, but he did not notice anything remotely "creepy" about it. Perhaps Daniel had just been imagining things. He nodded this to himself as he allowed his fingers, a slightly less chubby and soft as they had been, to wander over the keys, glancing down at them every once in a while as he played to make sure they were placed appropriately.

As the piece was rather difficult (for him), he practiced at a much slower tempo than what the sheet music read, carefully making sure his finger tips pressed themselves to the correct keys, and that his feet pushed on one of the piano pedals whenever his teacher had written in that instruction/it was listed. He drew to a steady, slow-paced close, and allowed the tension he hadn't noticed he had release from his arms and shoulders. Soul stared at the sheet music for a few more seconds, before taking it and opening the top of the piano bench in order to store it inside the compartment there until he was to practice again.

He wandered around the large, mostly empty mansion, his feet leading him in an aimless direction as he wondered what he ought to do. Perhaps he should go to one of the kitchens and eat. Or maybe color in the last few pages of his robot coloring book. Or go investigate what his parents were up to. Or perhaps it would be best if he just went and sat in his room; he wouldn't be bothering anyone, he wouldn't be getting in the way of anything...

Soul changed his course and made a sharp left, walking up another stair case, and journeying down a few more corridors until the identical double doors that lead to his room appeared in his line of vision. With some difficulty, he tugged one open, then shut it, suddenly feeling stifled by the stillness of the air in his tiny piece of sanctuary. A glance at the windows informed him that the servant had closed them, and that they were too high for him to attempt at opening again.

The three year-old gave a little sigh and sat on his bed, kicking his sock-clad feet a little before he lay back on the mattress, staring at the ceiling without much intent. He felt as though he were losing himself in all the white that was up there, and wondered if that's what Heaven was supposed to be like. White. Soul decided he liked the color, and turned over so that he lay on his side.

* * *

Winter and spring passed in a blur. The training he had gone through for his right arm had been just as difficult when using the opposing left limb, but he could hold both in their scythe forms (not at the same time) for roughly fifteen minutes by the time summer had rolled around. It was at this time that his father had decided that they would discontinue the training in favor of picking it up again once Soul turned five. He still expected Soul to try every once in a while to hold them for ten minutes or so, but it wasn't required as an every day exercise. He had agreed, this time with more enthusiasm than when Bradley had announced the two month break.

What the three year-old dreaded most about the return of summer was that the arrival of the hot season would mean the return of Daniel, who he half-wanted to see, half-wanted to never lay eyes on him again. The now eight year-old (he had boasted loudly of this as soon as he had stepped through the double doors) came without fail despite this, and Soul had to endure many days of walking in Daniel's shadow.

At the very least, he had his fourth birthday to look forward to, which Laura had told him would roll around in a little less than a month.

He still had to practice his piano diligently, an hour or so every day, playing bits of Mozart and Bach sprinkled in with Telemann and Beethoven, random assignments with no point or end. Mr. Palander's health had only continued to decline, and the large piano teacher had recently been forced to cancel Soul's lessons to fit in trips to the hospital for investigations as to what was wrong with him. Nothing had been discovered yet, and the man had only gotten paler and paler, sweatier and sweatier, and had even lost a bit of weight (granted, he was still rather heavy).

Presently, Soul's father entered his son's bedroom, looking a little tired as he said,

"Soul Eater, show me what you can do with your arms."

This was the cue for Soul to begin transforming his left arm, and he did so with relative ease, fingers automatically reaching for that switch and flipping it only half way. Recently he had made the switch red, instead of yellow, because he thought red looked like a tougher, more grown up color. Bradley nodded his approval and gestured for him to do the same with his right arm. With practiced ease, he turned the switch back to "normal."

With a little more difficulty this time, Soul reached out for a second switch, this one white. It was smaller than the red one, because he wasn't as good with his right arm yet. Carefully, his mental hand reached for it, two fingers gently setting it only half way down, and the familiar hum of the transformation started up in his limb. Soul slowly opened his eyes, pleased that he had successfully made his right arm into a scythe. Granted, he had done it before, but recently it was getting easier and easier.

"Good, good," Bradley nodded again, before motioning for him to flick his second switch. He did so, and followed his father down for breakfast.

Mr. Evans had taken to checking up on Soul every once and a while, to make sure he had not lost knowledge nor the strength to change his arms into scythes. He was forced to go through with it, if only to keep his father's quiet approval, and to avoid being embarrassed.

The three year-old was greeted with his mother's smile when they reached the dining room - she was already dressed in confident, casual attire, already cutting into her omelet. Soul licked his lips - he had always liked omelet. He glanced quickly around the table to find the croissants, before he sat down opposite his parents, eager to begin eating. Bradley and Laura seemed just as enthusiastic as he was, for after only a few minutes of small talk, they had already raised their forks to their mouths to take the first few bites of omelet. Soul quickly followed suite, nearly wolfing down half of it before asking for a croissant. A servant handed one to him, and with a mumbled "thanks," he took it.

"You have your father's appetite after all," Laura sighed, and for a moment the boy thought she might be angry with him, but the small smile that appeared on her face convinced him of otherwise.

"Don't pretend you don't have a large on as well," Bradley smirked, before taking another bite of his own meal. "Laura."

Mrs. Evans glared at her husband and gave a little huff, before shrugging her shoulders and cutting another neat sqaure of her breakfast and popping it into her mouth, trying to convey that she couldn't care less if she proved him right. Soul couldn't hold back a grin as he took a bite out of the croissant. He hoped he would get a few more casual meals like this in the future, he really did.

How ever, the three year-old had no idea that this would be the first, and last, of those casual meals. Not after what was to occur.

* * *

_asdfghjkl; I'm eager to write the next chapter, but I have so many things to dooo...well, I'll see where I stand on homework and practicing, then try to get started on it, at least. Soon things will start getting a lot more interesting, I promise!  
_


	11. Un Funerale con Acuto

**Brief Commentary:**  
This is partially dedicated to a boy in my grade who committed suicide Tuesday, September 23rd. He wasn't socially accepted, the majority of people made fun of/ignored him (I'm not going to act like a saint - I ignored him, too), and as far as I know, had very, very few friends. He was a genius and had so much opportunity in him...I'm just sad that he was in such a desperate state that he felt he needed to take his life. R.I.P.

Anyway, I'm a bit depressed from this, but I'll try to update when I can this weekend. I have a bit of a homework load, however, so I can't promise anything.

_ kurikaesu ayamachi no sonotabi hito wa  
tada aoi sora no aosa wo shiru  
hateshinaku michi wa tsuzuite mieru keredo  
kono ryoute wa hikari wo dakeru _

* * *

**The Evans Household**  
_A Dull Funeral_

Soul awoke with a start at the sound of the phone ringing, the noise shrill and loud enough to jerk him out of a pleasant dream. The three year-old quickly realized that the sun wasn't even up yet, and that it must be very late at night. In fact, it was about 5:02 AM, but only Mr. and Mrs. Evans were fully aware of this as Laura picked up the phone by their bed with a sleepy "Hello?"

There was a long silence, and Soul had almost drifted back to sleep when his parents silently entered his room, his mother gently shaking him into full consciousness.

"Soul Eater," she said softly, "Your father and I have some terrible, terrible news..."

He rubbed at his eyes in dissatisfaction, already wanting to go back to sleep, but Soul forced himself to sit up and look at them. He found that he was chilly and tried tugging the blankets up around his shoulders, eager to get back into the warmth of his covers. However, Laura was sitting on the bed, and this poor attempt was proved useless. He gave up and settled for tightly hugging himself, staring up at the somber faces of Bradley and Laura.

"What's wrong, mother?" he directed his question at Laura.

"It's about your piano teacher, Mr. Palander," she sighed, and looked to her husband. Mr. Evans cleared his throat and looked Soul in the eye, red meeting red.

"He passed away yesterday evening - from poisoning," Bradley said quietly, "He had apparently been digesting something hazardous for months and months without realizing it."

"...passed away?" Soul blinked, rubbing his arms a little. He had many, many questions, but only spoke the first one that had come to mind. "What does that mean?"

"It means he died, Soul Eater," was the response.

"Like Grandma Catherine?"

Laura flinched, Bradley quickly placing a large hand on one of her small shoulders.

"Y-yes," she mumbled, "Like Grandma."

"Oh," was all the boy could say. "...oh."

He slumped back into his pillows, and suddenly didn't feel very good at all. He hadn't exactly liked Mr. Palander, on the contrary, he hadn't liked him very much at all, but he was nice enough. He certainly had never wanted the grubby man to die... Soul remembered the brownish-purplish medicine he had kept taking, and wondered if the taste was just so gross that it killed him.

"Will I still play piano?" he said at last, not sure if he would be able to do so without Mr. Palander. After all, he was the one who had first helped him learn the grand instrument itself.

"Of course, Soul Eater!" Laura sounded shocked, as if he had just asked if one needed to breathe in order to live.

"But who am I gonna learn it from?" Soul inquired, not noticing as his body became more and more accustomed to the cool morning air. "If Mr. Palander went to heaven..."

"We will hire a new piano teacher," his mother assured him. "And you should say 'going to,' not 'gonna,' Soul Eater."

He shrank where he sat, ashamed to have done something incorrect.

"His funeral is in two weeks," Mr. Evans said, ignoring his wife's correction, "Until then, it is important that you continue to practice as usual. And you still must train your arms - that is quite important."

"Yes, sir," the boy nodded, trying out Daniel's 'name' for his father. Bradley smiled and nodded in return, silently leaving the room. Soul and Laura sat in silence for a few moments, before his mother held her arms out, inclining her head slightly to the right - her pretty black hair spilled over her shoulders as she did so.

"My little wolf," she murmured, "come here."

He clambered into her embrace, snuggling against her breast. He realized that he was crying. He wondered if he would miss Mr. Palander that much, as he used his hand to wipe away a tear that was tickling his cheek. Laura kept murmuring nonsense words to him, face buried in his hair as she rocked the three year-old back and forth on his bed, arms clenched tightly, almost uncomfortably around him. Mrs. Evans wasn't crying herself, but he could tell she was very upset.

After about ten minutes or so of this, she pulled back, Soul reluctantly following suit. Her lips gently pressed themselves to his forehead, and she smiled sadly at him.

"Do you want to go back to sleep, little wolf?" she whispered, "Are you still tired?"

He nodded, and she patted his head as he lay back down. In an unusually affectionate fashion, she pulled the covers over him; Soul realized once again how cold he had been as she did so.

"Good night," the boy mumbled, pressing into his pillow. Laura briefly stroked his hair before she whispered something in response, and left his room.

* * *

The following two weeks were unbearably boring, and it was only when his father announced the day of Mr. Palander's funeral that Soul felt a bit more energetic - he had never been to a "funeral," before. It had been explained to him by a servant that it was a way of "celebrating the life of some one who has died," but he had found it strange that it was supposed to be a sad event. If people were celebrating, why weren't they having fun and being happy? That's what those were all about, weren't they?

The servant he had been speaking to had quickly gotten frustrated with him and his questions, telling him to "hush up and get your coat on, young sir." Soul had shut his mouth after that, obediently slipping into his black coat, which accompanied his black shoes, black socks, black pants, white shirt, and black neck-tie. Personally, he thought such an outfit was impossibly boring, and the tie looping around his throat was itchy and uncomfortable - but he had been sternly instructed that everyone wore this kind of thing at funerals, and that he was no exception.

Laura came and ushered him out the door, Bradley already waiting for them in one of their more humble cars, a solemn expression on his face. As Soul and his mother climbed into the car, Mr. Evans nodded at the driver, who glanced at him through the rear-view mirror and started the engine. The funeral was about half an hour away, a thick silence, in the meantime, easily making itself known inside the vehicle.

Soul fidgeted in his seat; he was bored and in great discomfort, and he was eager for some one to speak. So, with a glance out of the car window, he asked,

"Is it gonna rain?"

"_'Going to,'_ Soul Eater. And no," said Laura, glancing at Bradley briefly for affirmation. He nodded. "There aren't a lot of clouds, and the sun is out today."

"Sorry," he said quickly, adding. "oh."

And the boy closed his mouth, unsure of anything else he could say. He allowed his hands, only slightly tanned, to run over the leather seats, finger tips brushing against the stitch-work in mild curiosity. He began to pick at the dull gold threads, wondering what would happen to the cushion beneath him if he pulled all of the string out of it. The sound of his finger nails tugging at them over and over was lost over the quiet grumbling of the engine, and he had pulled out at least three stitches by the time they had arrived at the funeral.

"Come on, Soul Eater," his mother called him out of the car, holding out her hand. He took it with a small grin on his face, trying not to look too happy amongst the solemn, saddened faces of the others arriving.

The service was unbearably long and unbearably hot. Soul was almost wishing it would rain - the sun was positively burning into him, and he was absolutely _certain _that the black clothes had something to do with it. He used a sweaty hand to push back his bangs in an attempt to keep them out of his face, and shuffled his feet in order to express his boredom.

There weren't very many people there, and he wondered if a lot of others had disliked Mr. Palander as much as he. There were a few old women who kept blowing into their handkerchiefs, their make-up running with tears and making them quite ugly in their grief, while their husbands only stood solemnly, eyes never leaving the large casket that held Mr. Palander's body.

Besides the elderly, several small families were present, some mothers holding infants and children several years older than him tugging impatiently on their fathers' sleeves, just as dissatisfied as he was. There was one couple that had no children with them, the woman leaning tiredly on her husband as he gently patted her shoulder; another woman stood next to them, by herself with tears in her eyes. The priest holding the sermon spoke with a slow, monotone voice, and all in all Soul found the experience to be very dull and pointless.

It was another forty-five minutes before the service ended, the Evans returning to the car and departing after Mr. and Mrs. Evans exchanged a few words with the other funeral attenders. Soul had only stood by himself, waiting, daring shy glances at the other children present, who had peeked at him with equal uncertainty.

The return trip was just as quiet as the first one, the three year-old almost immediately beginning to pick at the leather seat's stitch-work, undoing another two stitches by the time they had pulled up in front of the mansion. As his mother unbuckled his seat belt, he wondered if eventually he would be able to get it out of the entire length of the seat.

"Soul Eater," Bradley had addressed him as soon as they had gotten inside. "Go practice your piano."

"Yes, sir," Soul had nodded, quickly hugging Laura's legs before departing to do so.

Presently, his fingers were drifting lazily over the keys as he attempted to find their proper starting places, eyes squinting down at the endless rows of black and white. Checking the first few notes again, the boy eventually let them rest on the keys before he began, the frantic melody of Bach's Piano Concerto Movement 3 tapping out of the grand piano. It was only after two minutes that his fingers grew tired, and the notes on the sheet music began to seem more and more impossible. He wasn't playing it properly, he knew; he was repeatedly changing the tempo, missing notes here and there, or playing different notes from what was written altogether.

Soul let out a frustrated sigh, before starting again from the beginning. He liked playing correctly - the feeling of satisfaction was a pleasing one. As his finger tips flew over the black and white keys, he inwardly worried how his new piano teacher might react to his condition - would they be disgusted with him and throw him out? Would they be patient and understanding? Would they be able to take one look at him and determine him useless?

He had too many questions, too many questions without answers, and he was tired of thinking. The boy let himself go in his imperfect preformance, extending a piece of himself into the piano and making sure he did not think.

* * *

_Another part done. Next few chapters will be better, hopefully.  
_


	12. Spaventare nel Migliore dei casi

**Brief Commentary:  
**School really makes you realize how much you appreciate the weekends. It really does. And I was finally able to pick up a book and read. It was the most pleasant thing. Ah, and since I've never mentioned this before and it's not about to be brought up in the story, the Evans live some place in Western Europe. I'll let you imagine which country it is, because I don't especially have one in mind. Probably England or France or something, but I really am not sure.

* * *

**The Evans Household**  
_Frightening at Best_

"Soul Eater," the voice of his mother roused the four year-old boy from sleep. "Today we'll be meeting your new piano teacher - it's important to be on time."

Soul yawned and stretched his arms, before his hands went to his eyes to rub the sleepiness away. Laura smiled at him and gave him a brief hug and kissing his hair. She informed him she would see him at breakfast and left the room. A servant came in her place, carrying a bundle of neatly folded dress clothes. She shut the door behind her and beckoned for him to get out of the bed and come over to her. He did so and held his arms out for her as he usually did.

"Soon, sir, you will be learning to dress yourself. Very soon, in fact," the servant told him quietly as she pulled off his pajama shirt.

"Okay," he agreed, hopping from one foot to the next as she removed his pants and slid his dress pants on instead.

It had been with the passing of Soul's fourth birthday that his parents had announced that they had hired another piano teacher for him. The man was young and an "aspiring piano genius," according to his father, and had been eager to teach him in Mr. Palander's place. It seemed that the new piano teacher had been quite familiar with Mr. Palander, but how the man had known him had not been established. Soul didn't think it really mattered; he just hoped the new teacher was a bit nicer-looking than Mr. Palander, and that he would be kind, and not angry at him for playing poorly.

Soul had reached the point where he was beginning to feel dreadfully sorry for the piano, so he was quite eager to start.

Breakfast was brief, a few slices of toast accompanied by a bit of egg and sausage, but it was enough. Within twenty minutes, the Evans were ready to leave, piling into one of their better limos in silence. It was still fairly early in the morning; the sun was not very high in the sky by the time they had reached the highway.

The trip to the man's house was only about twenty minutes long. Once they had reached it, Soul had climbed out of the car with renewed enthusiasm - almost before Laura had unbuckled his seat belt. He wondered how kind his new teacher would be, he wondered if he would be ugly, he wondered if the man would hate his playing or think it was good for a child who had not been to a private lesson for over three months.

The house was infinitely smaller than theirs; a humble yet cold-looking place. Mr. Evans rapped on the black-painted door, taking a step backwards to give the piano teacher berth when he opened the door. A few seconds passed before the door swung open with a loud, irritating noise, and a thin, pale-skinned man stood in their line of vision. Soul couldn't help but stare at him as his father began to speak to him, introducing him to his son and reciting expectations and what not.

His appearance was haggard and bony, with shaggy, oily black hair and a much too large grin on his white face. His eyes were a little too big, his body a little too long. His voice was flat, high-pitched, and nasally when he spoke, and Soul almost wanted to run in his sudden revulsion. He did not like this man, who was supposed to be his new piano teacher. He did not like him at all.

"Soul Eater, this is Mr. Forrest Bazin," his mother introduced him as they were invited inside. Soul nodded his head and said a whispery "Hello" in greeting, unable to shake off the feeling that Mr. Bazin was staring straight at him even while the piano teacher spoke to his parents.

Before he knew what was happening, Mr. Bazin had put his long, spindly fingers on his relatively small shoulders and was ushering him towards an equally revolting piano.

"Well, well, Soul Eater Evans, let's see how you play," the man smiled at him, and Soul felt a sudden flash of fear. He nodded quickly and scrambled onto the piano bench while his parents and Mr. Bazin sank into the surrounding furniture. The four year-old felt their gazes bore into his back, and he quickly glanced up at the sheet music he had been provided with. It definitely did not look easy or simple. He stared at it for thirty seconds or so until Mr. Bazin gave a little cough, and out of another shock of fear, Soul began to play.

The notes had become unreadable, and for some of the time he was completely guessing which keys to put his fingers on. Through some miracle it actually sounded like a song and not some imbecilic plinking of keys, but to Soul this was not especially reassuring. He had played through about three-fourths of the page when Mr. Bazin coughed again, and immediately the four year-old stopped.

"Well, for a three year-old who has-"

"Four years," Laura corrected him. Mr. Bazin paused before continuing,

"For a four year-old who hasn't attended a lesson in three months, he plays fairly well. However, his lack of...shall we say, guidance has cost his skill and ability," the man sniffed, still smiling. "I would like to begin right away."

"Certainly," Mr. Evans agreed. "What is your price?"

"Oh, not very much at all, sir," Mr. Bazin grinned. "Let's say one-hundred sixty-seven dollars a month?"

"That sounds agreeable."

Actually, for all the Evan's wealth, that was an incredibly low price; the late Mr. Palander had demanded much more, at about three-hundred forty-five dollars a month. Bradley and Mr. Bazin shook hands, while Soul slipped off the piano bench and ran to his mother's side, nearly giving into the temptation to clutch her legs. However, he had been rebuked for doing this when he was younger, and so he avoided it, although he still pressed himself very close to her. She absently patted his head and ruffled his hair as Mr. Bazin escorted them out the door, assuring the Evans that they would not regret hiring him.

He gave Soul a frightening smile as he said,

"I'll be seeing you next Friday, Soul Eater."

The boy shuddered and nodded, managing to back out of the handshake the man offered him as he climbed quickly into the waiting limousine.

As the large vehicle pulled onto the road, Laura remarked,

"Well, that was very interesting."

"It was," her husband agreed.

"What did you think, Soul Eater?"

"Um," he said, unsure about answering, "I prob'ly need to get used to him first. He's kind of...uh, scary."

"Say 'probably,' Soul Eater," his mother corrected him, eyes narrowing in slight irritation. "And that's quite rude! This kind man has gone out of his way to contact us and offer you piano lessons at a much lesser price than your last teacher, and you judge him on the spot! Learn your manners."

"Yes'm," Soul mumbled, shrinking where he sat. Scolded, again, the four year-old thought bitterly to himself.

The remainder of the trip was spent in silence, besides the quiet mutterings between his parents about "the price of gas these days," and a few plans for later that evening. No one was very happy when they had arrived home, each member of the family going separate ways to handle and conclude their business for that day. Soul set off for his piano, partially wanting to confirm that not all pianos were as frightening and ugly as Mr. Bazin's, but mostly attempting to get his two-hour practicing schedule in before he went and did other things.

He pulled out a short Mozart piece and set to it, wanting to see if, by himself, he could perfect this one little song. With renewed determination, the four year-old set his fingers on the keys and began, noticing measures he had trouble with, intonation he could not quite get at, areas where he lacked crescendo or decrescendo when it was written, the speed of the tempo he was playing at, among other things. It was a wreck, but he was determined to perfect it.

For each place he had trouble with, he made himself play it over and over again until it he was able to go through it ten times without a single mistake. For each crescendo/decrescendo, he would ignore the notes in favor of exaggerating how loud or how soft the measures would become. He set the metronome at an agreeable speed and played through the piece at that speed a few times, forcing himself to play at continuously faster rates when he had mastered the previous.

Without realizing it, Soul had spent well over two hours at his piano, and his fingers were, now that he realized it, raw with pain. Gingerly taking his Mozart and tucking it back into the piano bench, he went to wash his hands and check the time. It was just about time for lunch (it being 11:45 AM - the digital clock in his room said so), so he curiously wandered into one of the smaller dining rooms to see if anything had been laid out.

From the untouched appearance of the food laid out, Mr. and Mrs. Evans had not eaten yet. Lunch was a casual meal, so Soul could eat by himself if he saw fit, and not be scolded. He helped himself to three rolls, packing some ham, lettuce and cheese inside (he hated tomatoes; they tasted weird) before scarfing them down. Soul was ravenously hungry, and with no one to scrutinize the way he ate, he swallowed as much as he needed, glad for the soon bloated feeling in his belly. After twenty minutes of eating, the boy then found himself quite tired and wanting for a nap.

And after such a terrible morning, the dark tranquility would be a blessed thing. Unfortunately, the walk to his room would be a long one, since he was on the opposite side of the mansion from it. With a sudden dread for the long trip, Soul wiped at his mouth with his napkin and slid from the uncomfortable wooden chair, regaining his balance on his feet and began the walk.

Four minutes must've past before he glimpsed the large, white double doors marking the entrance to his room, and with renewed eagerness he swung them open, barely remembering to close them behind him before he collapsed on his bed.

Soul couldn't keep his thoughts of Mr. Bazin away, and felt some unfamiliar coldness settle at the pit of his stomach. The man's smile (it was too scary to be a smile, he thought), his posture, his hair, his voice...everything about him sent a warning message to the four year-old's head, and he knew he wasn't just saying Mr. Bazin was scary to be rude. He didn't like him, but how long would he have to take lessons with him? He had taken lessons with Mr. Palander since he was two, would he have to take lessons with the new teacher until he was six? The boy felt like crying in despair, but instead buried his face into his pillows and fell asleep.

* * *

_Woo...this is over with. Next chapter will be awesome. Promise. This one sucked. :P Anyway._


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